Yes You Are
by elsarenard
Summary: Irene Adler is intrigued when she first meets the Baker Street boys, and instead of setting out to seduce Sherlock, decides to do everything in her power to make sure Sherlock and John get together. Johnlock, Slash, some Femslash
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Story is set pre-season 3. This story will contain some slash and a little femslash (though I don't usually write much smut and won't include it on fanfiction if I do...see AO3 for that), so if that bothers you please just leave now. Otherwise, warnings will come if any other questionable material comes up. I'll rate this M just in case.**

_"We're not a couple."_

_"Yes you are."_

_-A Scandal in Belgravia_

* * *

Irene Adler had to admit she was intrigued by the prospect of meeting Sherlock Holmes. A brilliant detective, he'd made an impression on her just from his newly famed reputation. Though she became even more intrigued when she received photos of him just a few hours prior to meeting him. He had some level of attractiveness to him, if one went for that sort of thing. Defined cheekbones and stormy gray eyes. Tall and slim. His stern gaze spoke of a man who would be a challenge to break. And she liked nothing better than a challenge.

She generally found herself more inclined towards the fairer sex, but that didn't mean she hadn't found men who interested or attracted her. To define sexuality was to limit sexuality. And limits were really only something Irene needed in bed, and even those were meant to be tested.

But Sherlock Holmes was intriguing for more reasons than mere reputation, or even interesting appearance. As she decided to run a search for more pictures, she found something that fascinated her even more. What truly struck Irene was his smile as he looked towards his little tagalong partner in one of their photos.

John Hamish Watson. Him she'd known very little about, other than the fact that his blog was part of what had inspired some of the mass following of Sherlock. She'd looked over the little website herself. Nothing spectacular. But nonetheless intriguing.

What very few knew about Irene, was she had an intense interest in gay men. While a man at her control was interesting, she grew weak at the knees watching two men submit to one another. There was such a fascinating power dynamic, and it worked so well. Kate was well aware of this of course, often finding her gay erotica in her spare time.

But looking between the two men in the photos gave Irene chills. Until meeting Watson, Sherlock had lived alone, no friends, no real acquaintances. But something had changed when he began spending time with the doctor. Irene's fantasies were only able to run wild with ideas. There had been rumors of course, but here seeing living proof before her eyes, Irene was convinced. Even if the two didn't know it yet, there was a level of chemical attraction that made them just right.

Ah, she'd have them both then. Watch the two of them on a bed, enjoy seeing who won out in dominance, who was the first to break and beg. Two worthy pets for her to play with and enjoy in her own way.

Hmm, but she couldn't be obvious. No. That wouldn't do. Better to test the waters a little, play with them both. Better to see just how confused and riled up she could get them.

Unable to restrain a heady sigh, Irene turned back to Kate, deciding it was time to get ready.

* * *

John was still trying to process everything that had happened over the course of the day. Sherlock sitting in Buckingham Palace wearing only a sheet, Sherlock disguising himself to go meet Irene Addler, or The Woman, or whatever the hell she was supposed to be called. And then being allowed to punch Sherlock in the face. What a day.

But what he was truly unprepared for, was to return from grabbing something to clean Sherlock's wounds, and find Irene Adler completely naked, waiting for them in her sitting room as though nudity was the new black.

What the—John froze up, staring at her first, then at Sherlock who looked completely puzzled, sitting there now without his costume, coat lying to the side. Irene's lipstick covered lips turned up at the corners, eyes staring at him almost hungrily. He didn't know where to look so he settled for staring at Sherlock.

The two chatted while he stood there feeling awkward, unsure what to really do. He couldn't focus on their conversation, until something Irene said caught his attention

"Oh and somebody loves you," Irene purred, batting her eyelashes at the both of them.

What? Hold on. John blinked a few times, confused. Where had she gotten that? He glanced towards Sherlock who wasn't giving any indication the statement had bothered him.

Irene settled back in her chair again, eyes flashing between the two of them. Her smile had only grown in the last minute, but thankfully she did clarify what she meant.

"Why, if _I_ had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."

Feeling even more uncomfortable, John made the suggestion of putting something on, laughing to attempt to cover up his confusion.

Adler's eyes fixed on him. "Oh, no denials then? Well well, I knew I had it right. And why must I put something on. What's the matter? Feeling exposed?"

"Deny what?" John asked, swallowing as he tried again to find somewhere to settle his eyes. Sherlock was the best option.

"Deny that you love him of course," Adler rose to her feet and sashayed over to John, causing him to have to try desperately to maintain eye contact.

"Of course I wasn't going to punch his nose or mouth," John said, glancing back over at Sherlock. "But that doesn't mean I _love_ him…I mean at least if you're er…talking romantically or anything. I know people keep thinking we're a couple but we're not."

"Yes you are," Irene Adler said, full red lips forming an even larger smile.

"We're really not," John said. "Erm…I'm going to go tend to Sherlock now if that's alright…you know in a…non gay sort of way…"

He avoided looking at her as he walked over to where Sherlock was sitting, moving onto the couch next to him, and tilting his face to get a better look at the damage he'd done.

"Why don't you prove it then?" Irene said with a smirk.

"For the love of—how do you prove you don't love someone?" John muttered.

"Show there's no attraction. For example…kiss," Irene's eyes glittered as she stared at the two of them. John shifted in his seat, Sherlock was busy staring at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Er…" John looked from Sherlock to Irene, only to remember she was naked and quickly try to avert his eyes. "We're not doing that. Sorry."

"No proof then," Irene said with a smirk. "Well alright. And here I was thinking about making a little wager."

"What kind?" Sherlock asked.

"Mmm…the kind where I tell you where I give access to my photographs if you give me access to…information…quell my curiosity about the two of you if you will."

"All we have to do is kiss to be allowed the photographs?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I don't quite believe you."

"Oh of course, that's a little too simple isn't it? How about if you kiss I'll give you a hint."

"I don't need a hint to know they are in this room," Sherlock said.

"But you'll need a hint to know any more than that," Irene said with a smirk. "Come, just a little kiss."

John kept shifting back and forth on the couch, trying to find the ideal place to put his hands and finally just settling for crossing his arms.

Sherlock in the meantime remained still, gazing around the room and then back at Irene, only to become more puzzled. Finally his attention settled on John.

"She has a point. It is just a kiss."

"Just a—Sherlock are you mad? Seriously! I'm _not_ gay. Nor are you Mr. I'm-married-to-my-work. For heaven's sake, Sherlock—"

"Oh do shut up, John," Sherlock muttered. "Any specifics on the kiss?"

Her grin widened. "Oh let's just say…ten seconds or more? Not too hard is that?"

Sherlock shrugged and reached out to put a hand to John's face. The doctor froze up, staring at the detective.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing we're not—"

"Ten seconds," Sherlock said. "You'll survive."

And then he leaned in and gently placed his lips to John's.

There was a second of shock for the doctor. He froze up, stiffened as his colleague, his flat mate, his friend placed a soft yet insistent kiss to his mouth. _It's just like kissing a girl_, he tried to tell himself. His eyes shut, and he tried to imagine it was his last girlfriend he was kissing instead of Sherlock. But even the fantasy was not enough to destroy the reality.

These were Sherlock's lips touching his. This was Sherlock's more bristly upper lip, his longer nose that bumped against John's in an awkward adjustment of placement. This was Sherlock's slightly less practiced mouth opening ever so slightly, hinting at tongue contact that had John's breath catching… wait hold up—

John hoped dearly that ten seconds had passed as he jerked away from Sherlock, moving a hand up to cover his newly freed mouth, trying hard to process what he'd just been thinking. Had he thought snogging would be…arousing? No, hardly. This was…weird. John shook his head and glanced back at Irene who had her head cocked but was still smiling.

"There now, that wasn't so hard was it?"

"The hint then if you please," Sherlock said. He too had moved a hand up to his mouth, though only to brush a knuckle over his lips. John studied him a moment, wondering what that meant. Had he found it disgusting? Was he reminiscing what it felt like? Sherlock seemed practically asexual. Even now he didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by Irene's nudity, eyes fixed on hers rather than anything else. John shifted his gaze on the floor. Too much temptation in one room…too much confusion.

"The safe is over there. I've already given you the combination," Irene said, nodding towards the mantle.

John looked towards it, and then at Sherlock whose eyes seemed to have started glowing, a smile playing on those lips as he studied the space. _A smile really did look so good on his lips_—John cut off his thoughts with an angry shake of his head.

Thankfully, his thoughts were put to a stop as the door suddenly opened and men with guns barged in. Sherlock rose to his feet, but there was nothing they could do. The men demanded he open the safe for them since he knew the combination. John watched in astonishment as they threatened him. But he noticed Irene's eyes glint as the gun was placed to his head.

"If you don't I'll have Dr. Watson shot in the head. Don't want that now, do you?"

"That's unnecessary, she hasn't given me any code. I suggest you ask her if you want it."

The man shook his head. "Can't trust her. You have three seconds Mr. Holmes. Open the safe."

John held his breath as a count began. Sherlock glanced at him, and John caught just a flash of panic in his eyes. No, that wasn't good. Not for him.

"Think," Irene said, and then winked.

He glanced towards her, brow furrowing even as the countdown finished. John readied himself for pain…for the bullet to pierce his skull.

"No. Wait. I have it." Sherlock walked over and typed in the numbers. He called out behind him, and John figured it just in time, ducking down even as a gun went off. Sherlock and he had little trouble subduing the men. Irene Adler was glowing by the time they were finished.

"Well done, I'm thoroughly impressed. You're quite observant."

John looked between the two of them, though Sherlock wasn't looking at Irene.

"Of course, your measurements, how unoriginal."

"It took you long enough to get them," Irene said, she stretched out, showing off just a bit more. "I really did think you hadn't noticed. So good you did for Dr. Watson's sake." She looked towards him smiling. "Perhaps some of that love is returned at least."

"Stop babbling nonsense." Sherlock grabbed for the phone, looking it over, examining every inch. "John, go call the police."

John sighed and grabbed his phone, walking out the door into the hallway to make the call. He caught sight of Kate stretched out to the side and paused to check. She was still alive, only unconscious. Satisfied with that he turned back to making the call.

He gave the pertinent information before returning to the sitting room. And that was when he found Sherlock slumped on the floor, Irene standing over him smiling.

"Oh don't worry, just a bit of something to make him sleep." She turned to leave, but John caught her arm.

"What did you give him?"

"I don't think that's really your concern. You can go play nursemaid to him for a few hours. He'll be fine by next morning." She smiled and reached a hand to brush his cheek. John drew back, flinching away.

"Stop it," he hissed.

"Hmm…but you don't flinch from his touch. No… well I'll leave you to see to him then. Don't worry, Dr. Watson. We'll see each other again soon enough. I'd almost count on it."

His attention was drawn back to Sherlock who apparently was still semi-coherent. He was trying to get up, likely to hurt himself at that rate. John hastened over to keep him down, even as he realized looking up again, that Irene Adler had just made a very thorough and perfect escape.

* * *

"They really fell for it?" Kate asked later that evening, now that they were settled in their new safe house. "And you went to drop off his coat and everything?"

"Mmm yes. And it gave me a chance to slip the cameras in too," Irene said, licking her lips as she stared at her computer screen, admiring the various angles of the flat, the possibilities of all the dirty things she could catch for her viewing pleasure.

"You really think they'll do something?" Kate asked, leaning closer.

"Oh certainly." Irene gave a smirk. "There were sparks on that kiss, Kate. Let me tell you. John Watson's face, priceless. Sherlock tried to close himself off, but he looked towards the good doctor one time to many after. Yes, they're well on their way. And I'll play a few other games to solidify it."

"Sounds nice. But how about we play a few games of our own," Kate whispered, licking along the shell of her ear.

Momentarily distracted from the thought of her two boys playing, Irene smiled and turned to catch Kate in a soft kiss.

"Get ready for me, darling," she whispered as she pulled back.

"Yes mistress," Kate sighed, settling back on the pillows even as Irene's gaze drifted back towards the screen. This was too good. Simply too good.

**A/N: Please review. I'm not sure if I'll actually write anymore, so if you want more please let me know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A short one, but nonetheless wanted to update for the awesome people who've asked for more. :) **  
**I'm bumping this up to mature due to sexual content, though I'm not a very explicit writer. Still, if such things bother you leave now! It's Irene Adler we're talking about after all. **  
**Enjoy, read and review!**

Irene closed her eyes in bliss as she allowed yet another wave of pleasure to sweep over her. There were reasons she'd kept Kate around. She tended to forget them sometimes.

Rolling over she glanced back towards the computer just in time to see movement on the screen. Kate groaned when she pushed her aside, but Irene had to get closer, had to see. She pressed the volume button, turning it up so she could hear as well.

"Jaaaaaaawwwwn," Sherlock pleaded as he thrashed on the bed.

Irene began to laugh as the consulting detective rose up to his knees before tumbling forward face first. Too good. She hadn't expected this little joy; she'd get to the good part in a few seconds.

She watched the door open and Dr. Watson come in to be surprised by the sight of Sherlock on the floor. He was mumbling things about her, until at last John pushed Sherlock back into bed and left him there.

He squirmed beneath the sheets, groaning. Her eyes widened as she watched his hand move beneath the sheet. Oh yes. Yes! Her breathing sped up, warmth growing in her belly as she watched the detective begin to touch himself.

"I should have done something like this months ago," Irene moaned, head falling back as she let arousal and desire overwhelm her. She turned back towards Kate. It seemed a bit unfair to require so much of her in such a short time, but the other woman appeared equally aroused an interested by the activities on screen.

"And to think this is only the beginning," Irene said, pulling Kate closer and sealing their mouths together in a passion filled kiss.

* * *

Sherlock awoke disoriented, mind flitting through the experiences of earlier with a great amount of frustration. How had the woman managed it? She had bested him, drugged him, taken the phone. He'd had it in his hand! Blast. He tried to sit up, wondering suddenly where he was. Did the woman keep him? He vaguely remembered her leaning over him and whispering something…something on a show…something on…

"John!" he realized that was what she'd said. Something about John.

His words came out garbled. His body felt strange, heavy, his limbs suddenly unwieldy. He sat up, but jolted forward, toppling to the floor just in time for John to enter and find him lying there. His heart was racing, breath coming fast as he managed to stand, frantically looking for signs of her. She'd been here. He was certain of it. She'd been—what had she been doing? Leaning over him…something bad. Something very bad.

John suddenly was grabbing him, pulling him back onto the bed. Those firm hands on his chest felt undeniably good. And it was then that Sherlock began to be aware of the steadily growing heat within him, the warmth curling in his belly, body reacting to unknown stimuli.

"Back to bed! You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep," John said, sliding the covers over him.

Sherlock groaned and twisted, trying to make sense of what was happening. He hadn't felt like this since he was a teenager, since hormones he couldn't control had run rampant through his body. But now, as an adult, it had been years since he'd felt anything like this.

"I'll be next door if you need me," John said.

He was glad he was lying on his stomach, hiding any signs of arousal from John. No, John couldn't know he was feeling this way. No one could. This was—strange. He needed to figure out what was going on.

"Why would I need your help?" he managed to mutter. He could feel his face heating to match the rest of his body, well aware of the growing warmth inside, the potential consequences of that as well. He shifted against the mattress, relieved as John seemed to get the picture that he didn't need help.

"No reason at all," John said as he went out the door.

The door shut, and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. He rolled over, a hand reaching down to push his pants aside. It had been a long time since he'd done something like this, but nonetheless, the soft touches made some of the heat dissipate, allowed a small amount of respite. He breathed deeply, trying to quiet any sighs or moans, knowing John was just outside listening in to make sure there wasn't anything wrong. Mmm John…

For some odd reason the thought of the doctor brought further interest to his arousal. He wasn't quite sure why. Years ago he'd had a partner or two, only brief physical intimacies, but since that time he hadn't considered anyone else. But John's hands had been on him only a minute before. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was why he suddenly couldn't stop thinking of John, John reaching down to tug the sheets aside. John touching him. John…kissing him?

The kiss he'd shared in front of Irene Adler seemed ages ago, but still the memory was there, lingering in perfect detail in his mind. John's frozen lips against his. John's body stiffening a bit and then relaxing as they leaned closer. John's taste, John's scent, John's breathy sighs.

He couldn't resist. Sherlock gave into the building pressure, allowed the desire within to build and at last crescendo. As the final moments came, he just barely dared to call out the name most on his mind.

"John!"

He gasped as pleasure overwhelmed him. As his body went lax, he heard footsteps again. Groaning he shifted to clean himself some, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breath as the door opened again. John stood there a moment. Sherlock did his best to imitate sleep. To ease himself back into something of a relaxed state.

The doctor gave a small curse, something about his imagination. Then the door closed, and he was left in peace once more. He opened his eyes and glanced towards it to make sure, noticing the coat hanging there. To his surprise a soft noise echoed from the coat pocket, but whatever it was he didn't have the energy to get up.

He felt boneless. His body had completely given up trying to move or making more of an effort to clean. Sherlock sighed and let his eyes flutter shut again. Hopefully in the morning this would all be over. John was right. All he needed was a little bit of sleep.

* * *

Irene could hardly restrain herself. Oh that was even better than expected. She'd thought a little more prodding would be needed, but she had been right in thinking interest was already there. Her little aphrodisiac mixture had merely accelerated the process. All you really needed was the right catalyst in a chemical reaction and the rest would take care of itself. And what these two men had was as chemical as reactions went.

Unable to restrain a smile, she leaned a bit closer, admiring the lines of the detective's body on the bed, his slim chest rising and falling with the deeper breaths of sleep.

"Wow, they're really going to go for it then," Kate commented with a giggle. "You were right."

"I'm always right," Irene corrected. "And if Dr. Watson feels anything remotely similar, it's only a matter of time before both of them will be rolling around on the bed together. Can you imagine, Kate? It will be so lovely."

"Yes," Kate agreed. "And what was that with the phone?"

"Oh just a little surprise. I think the both of them will find it quite interesting." Irene smirked and pressed the button on her own phone, playing the orgasmic sigh for Kate to hear.

"Ooh, was that from last night?" Kate asked.

"Of course," Irene said with a chuckle. "Sadly, not all my noises will be reserved for your listening pleasure. But no worries, darling. I'll let him get used to it for a time. But I think I might change it after a bit."

She tapped out a message on her own phone. _Hope you're thinking of me, handsome. ;) xxx_

"Now, we just sit and wait," she told Kate. "And in time, they'll both do exactly as I want."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. I have three WIP's right now, and this one just isn't my favorite. Nonetheless, I do want to continue.**

**Warnings are the same as always, sexual insinuations, Irene Adler being her usual dominatrixy self- femslash, slash, all that jazz. No smut just yet.**

**I don't tend to label POV changes, I feel like people can usually distinguish those themselves, but if that bothers you please let me know. Read and review as always. **

* * *

"The aphrodisiac wore off," Kate pointed out, pouting at the screen as she watched Sherlock and John sitting at the table having breakfast. No signs of potential sex or anything of the like.

"Yes," Irene agreed. "But it wasn't meant to last a long time. Merely start playing with that pretty head of his. And it's done its job. Why, I've counted six glances at Watson this morning…"

"Glances? Is that all we get? I thought you promised me a show," Kate said, wriggling to try to adjust herself and get a better view of the screen. Irene glanced at her handcuffed wrists, calculating how long Kate could go in them. She'd probably be fine for another few hours. The woman was tough…hence her perfect makings for Irene.

"Never fear, darling. A little patience is all this game requires. Now, I must be off to see that client. You'll be alright for another hour, won't you?" Irene asked, glancing her over with obvious care.

"Yes, Miss Adler," Kate said with a smirk.

"Good girl," Irene said, moving in to place a quick kiss to her lips. "As a reward I'll leave you this so you don't get too bored."

She handed Kate her phone, allowing the woman to grasp it carefully in spite of her hands still being bound together. Kate's eyes lit up at the thought.

"Now, enjoy watching a bit. You'll see what I mean if you're observant. Now, I must be off so I can return and watch later."

Irene strutted over to the doorway and paused, glancing back towards the screen one last time, longingly admiring another furtive glance from Sherlock. So perfect. She licked her lips.

"I'll be back. After all—the game is on."

Kate smirked and looked from the phone to the screen as the door closed. She began typing out a message, unable to contain a soft laugh at the thought of what was coming.

* * *

John was trying to focus on eating. But it was hard. Especially with the Holmes brothers arguing over top of him.

Mycroft had been there for a solid twenty minutes already, trying to work details out of Sherlock, trying to understand why the photographs had not been recovered and all that. And while the two snipping at each other was irritating, the true discomforts of the situation were in another area altogether.

The problem was that he couldn't stop thinking about the day before…everything that had happened…in particular the horrible strangeness of dealing with drugged up Sherlock.

At first the consulting detective had simply been lethargic and dazed, nearly passing out once or twice. He'd seemed a bit out of it. Then, of course, he began to babble.

Half of it didn't even make sense. Things about the woman. Things about cases and murder and catching killers. Things about violins and music. Lestrade caught a particularly funny segment of Sherlock talking about the air outside Irene Adler's house, going on about air and absolute nonsense for a good fifteen minutes. But in the cab on the way home, that was when it became even more odd.

Sherlock had sort of, slumped against him. He'd begun babbling something about how comfortable his arm was. And then—then Sherlock's hand had drifted down to his trousers.

John had pulled it away of course, told Sherlock it was all right, and he'd be home soon. But the man had continued to mumble things about John…about how good he smelled and how wonderful his body looked and…

John had to stop thinking about it. The main thing was he'd put Sherlock to bed and it had all been fine after that. Or it would have been, if not for hearing several bits of moaning that had reminded him of—well let's just say he hadn't really wanted to think about it.

Most of the time, Sherlock seemed to have the sexuality of a rock. He had no interest in anyone, man or woman. But last night—something about everything that had happened must have simply pushed him into a different state of mind.

Shaking his head, John pulled himself from his thoughts in time to add a sarcastic comment to the mix.

"Treat her like royalty," Sherlock suggested.

"Though, not like she treats royalty," John said with a smirk.

Mycroft offered a half smile, though both of them were interrupted by a noise.

A breathy female sigh, rang out through the little flat. John glanced for his laptop wondering suddenly if he'd left a video playing accidentally or if a pop up had come up or something. That would be his luck. Instead, Sherlock got up and stalked over to retrieve his phone.

John tried not to overthink it, but still, the noise kept playing in his mind. A breathy—well sexual sounding sigh that seemed more fitting for pornography than for some noise coming from Sherlock's phone.

The consulting detective ignored his question. He looked over whatever had been sent and tucked it back away, stalking back over to the table.

There was a pause, but Sherlock quickly filled it with accusations about the CIA killers. John looked down at his food again, brow furrowed as he tried to not think about the noise. Just his luck of course, it came again.

He jerked up and looked towards Sherlock, who again pulled his phone out to look at it before putting it away. Mrs. Hudson saw fit to comment on how "rude" it was, but Sherlock still offered no defense.

An orgasmic noise from Sherlock's phone. He had to be dreaming. He had to be hallucinating. He had to have hit his head or something—all that had happened continued to add up to some dream unfounded in reality. A sexy criminal walking into the room with no clothes, Sherlock kissing him, Sherlock making what seemed like advances on him, and now sex noises coming from his phone. Had he been watching too much pornography lately? Was this an effect of not having a girlfriend in the last few weeks? Was he this sex starved that his mind was supplying him with these situations?

He eyed Sherlock cautiously, watching as the detective pulled his newspaper up again, stormy eyes gazing at it challengingly. John let himself examine his flatmate's countenance, his fine features, his pale skin, his well-defined chest made impeccably clearer by the button up he was wearing—

No.

He wasn't gay. He _wasn't_. He just recognized the attractiveness of his friend, that was it. It'd been a weird week. Give it a day or two and he'd be back to his normal straight self. Just give it a few—

His body responded at the mere thought of that noise, recalling more intimate images to mind. He shifted uncomfortably, deciding maybe he should actually say something.

Mycroft had disappeared out into the hall to take a call. Perfect timing.

"Why does your phone make that noise?" John asked.

"What noise?" Sherlock muttered, still continuing to pull his newspaper higher. Being evasive, but John was used to that.

"_That_ noise—the one it just made."

"It mean's I've got a text," Sherlock said with a sigh.

"Hmm…your texts don't normally make that noise."

"Well somebody got ahold of my phone and apparently, as a joke, changed their text alert noise."

"So every time you get a text…"

He trailed off as the phone sighed yet again, as if on cue. That was…strange. John shifted again.

"Can't you change it?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson asking him to turn the thing down. John quite agreed, though he didn't know how to say that without stating the obvious. And then Sherlock would simply have one more thing to mock him for. The detective himself didn't appear the least bit bothered. _Of course not_, John thought to himself_, since when has Sherlock ever been bothered by sex or appeared the least bit interested in anything or anyone. The man's a machine in that respect. _

"How'd someone change their text noise," John suddenly said. "Wasn't it with your—coat?"

"I'll leave you to your deductions," Sherlock said.

The words stung for some reason. Part of it, John decided, was not understanding why the detective didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth. The likelihood was that Irene Adler had done so at some point, that she'd returned the phone, but if that was the case why not tell John? His secretive behavior was becoming annoying, proving this _woman_ to truly be something different.

_Hold on, _John thought, _I'm not jealous am I? No, there's no way I'm not it's just—_

"I'm not stupid you know," John said, turning back to his food and wondering if Sherlock really did think he was. Most likely. That was the whole appeal of bloody Irene Adler and her brilliant mind. Sherlock would slobber all over himself for her then. Intelligence…he'd always been smart in school, but nothing like Sherlock of course. Compared to the detective he was average. And Sherlock clearly wasn't interested in average.

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock muttered sarcastically.

John tried his best to not react._ Don't act like that hurt you. It wouldn't normally._ After all, he'd normally just let such things bounce off. But today was different for some reason.

They were interrupted by Mycroft returning to the room, telling Sherlock to leave Irene alone. The challenge in the detective's eye bothered John. Sherlock never was good at leaving things alone…and the last thing John wanted was more time around Irene Adler. The woman was clearly up to no good, and he feared what further contact might do to the already confusing relationship.

Mycroft left as Sherlock took up his violin. John sat a moment listening to the soft lilting melody of "God Save the Queen." Normally he'd just listen a bit and probably head out if the noise started to bother him. But today he couldn't help but stare at his flatmate, intrigued by how intimate and sensual violin playing could appear.

The sweeping motion of the bow, the careful grip Sherlock kept on the long neck of the instrument, fingers dancing over the surface as he quickly morphed into a more lively concerto piece after Mycroft had disappeared out the door. His whole body was poised in anticipation of each note, eyes closing briefly in a moment of passion.

The crescendo of music, the rising swell as more and more passion and energy went into each stroke, reaching towards climax, climbing up up up, the tip of the bow sliding more and more rapidly back and forth, the sawing motion arcing as the undulation of smooth vibrato rose faster and faster—

"Right, I'm going to go out for a bit," John muttered, grabbing his plate and taking it towards the kitchen. If Sherlock heard him he didn't respond. He kept playing. Until a soft sigh from the table broke his concentration.

John's head jerked up. Sherlock stopped playing. Sherlock _never_ stopped playing in the middle of a piece unless there was an emergency or—well something important was happening. John was used to having to wait until breaks in pieces to get his attention, even then sometimes the detective was in the mood and wouldn't stop.

But he'd paused to look at the phone, peering down at it. Though again he appeared to not answer, the principle was the important thing. Irene Adler was worthy of ignoring music for. Irene Adler was interesting enough to leave a piece unfinished. Irene Adler was the one Sherlock appeared to like and be interested in and potentially want to have sex with and—

Not gay. Not gay. John tried to repeat those things to himself over and over again as he made his way back towards the stairs.

"Nice and hot if you'd like," Mrs. Hudson said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Wait…er…sorry…what?" John stammered, trying to figure out what she'd just said.

"The tea! If you'd like some. I just put a kettle on."

"Er…no I think I'll have to pass. I really ought to be coming—I mean going."

"Oh alright. Well, give your love to Sherlock."

"What?"

"Give my love to Sherlock, dear. After everything that's happened he could use it. I know you'll take good care of him."

"Er, yes. I'm going out now, Mrs. Hudson. Good morning."

"It shouldn't be too long before he'll be back on his feet. No matter how hard last night was."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson," John muttered as he closed the door behind him before another word could pass his ears. He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, before opening again to go find a cab and head off for the day.

* * *

Irene Adler was most amused when she returned to find Kate giggling at the screen.

"Having fun are we?" she asked, setting her things aside before coming to sit on the bed beside her lover. She reached for the handcuffs and undid them, taking the phone as well to scan the few texts.

"He didn't respond," Kate told her. "But he got a bit riled up—though I think Dr. Watson was even more so."

"Mmm…really. I suppose I did sort of expect that. He strikes me as the jealous type. Hence some of my strategies," Irene chuckled. "I'll have to go watch the recordings. I'm sure they're amusing."

"Yes," Kate agreed. "But Dr. Watson left after only a bit. I'm not sure we're going to get much out of him if he runs every time he's feeling something—at least if that wasn't a knife in his pocket."

"He'll confront what's there eventually. But this isn't checkers, Kate. This is chess. This involves set up and planning and watching the other players' moves very carefully. And after those are determined—we strike."

"I do love your plans," Kate agreed. "In the meantime, we continue to watch and wait?"

"Indeed," Irene said, eyeing the detective playing his violin. "The longer the set up, the bigger the fall…or perhaps we'll settle for the longer the tumble in bed."

"I wouldn't mind one of those myself right now."

"Oh shush you," Irene said, reaching over to smack Kate on the thigh, though she smiled in spite of herself. "Now, be a good girl and go fetch me my tea. I intend to watch that footage over again. See just how well you've played our two darling boys. From the state of Mr. Holmes I'd have to guess quite well…but I need to see for myself."

* * *

**A/N: Not sure when I'll write more, but I will try to soon! Read and review please! Those who did (The Archfiend, moonandstargoddess, kismet38), thank you so much!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Another chapter! Warnings- masturbation. As always, I'll say I'm not usually a graphic smut writer, but I want people to be warned either way. **

* * *

Irene was focused, intent upon studying the past footage, while still examining the lone detective of course. He'd stopped playing his violin and had seated himself on the couch, staring into space. It was unfortunate the other pawn in the game had left, but she'd have him back soon enough, both of them at her disposal.

However, there were greater problems for her to worry about. The CIA was on to her, they'd found her and had proved themselves willing to take extreme measures to get to her phone.

Though her beautiful Holmes and Watson plan did appear to be working well, Irene knew it would likely have to take less of a priority in the next few weeks. But as she'd already told Kate—these things couldn't be rushed.

With a sigh she rose from the bed and went off to start working on finding another safe house. She'd likely have to move frequently for the next few months. At least she'd have some side entertainment to make it a little more fun. Even so, she turned the volume down on Sherlock mumbling things to himself, turning back to her work.

* * *

Sherlock didn't remember the last time he'd felt this level of distraction. This level of inability to think, to reason, to process through the events of earlier. Irene Adler—the woman.

Whatever she'd done to him it remained a mystery. He'd considered analyzing a sample of blood or urine, running a toxicology screen and seeing if there was anything he could make of it. Obviously she'd used some sort of incapacitating agent alongside what he suspected was an aphrodisiac. He couldn't be certain of that, but based on previous experiences and his usually low libido, the evidence pointed at that. But for what purpose? Why drug him with something to increase sexual desire?

If she'd been trying to get her claws into him, that he might have understood. But he'd been home alone in bed. And what had she whispered to him when putting his coat in his room? Something about John. He was almost certain of it. But again, that was absolute nonsense. There was no reason for the woman to talk about John. She hadn't appeared the least bit interested in him. Her attention had been focused on Sherlock instead. _Brainy is the new sexy_, she seemed to purr in his mind.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself.

So, what did the evidence tell him? What could he deduce from the little he'd known? Had the drugging been for her own amusement? Had it been to prove a point? Had it been an attempt to seduce him? That seemed a bit low for someone as intelligent as Ms. Adler, but he wouldn't put it past her. She was good at getting what she wanted. Quite good in fact.

"John, in your medical opinion, do you have any ideas what she might have dosed me with?" Sherlock asked.

He wondered if he should add the part about his libido, but a part of him felt…embarrassed by that. He'd acted like a pubescent, and though he was well aware of John's own level of sexual entertainment based on the large amount of pornographic material in his search history, he felt John wouldn't really understand.

But of course he wouldn't. John had been like any other boy growing up, was like any other man now. He had dealt with his share of arousal and masturbation and intercourse and pornography and girlfriends and all the other nonsense people put themselves through in an effort to lessen their sexual frustrations. To him such things were perfectly normal.

The thought seemed to open a door in his memory palace, one he tried to normally keep firmly shut. Memories of his adolescence swarmed him. Thoughts of confusion when he had his first wet dream, many years later than most boys probably would. The elation of realizing he wasn't a total freak, while at the same time wondering what this would mean for his future. Would he become a slave to his desires like so many men (and probably some women) were? Would he be able to find someone who would be interested in having sex with him? Would he find someone who _he_ wanted to have sex with?

For the most part, he'd lived a fairly sexless life. As a boy one or two girls had approached him, but he'd never had much interest in them. Occasionally a more intelligent one would intrigue him, but the draw was rarely if ever sexual. And then of course, as a youth he'd considered boys…and had to admit if he was to act sexually those seemed slightly more appealing to him in some ways. He'd had a boy he'd liked back in secondary…a few years older than him and particularly gifted in school. He remembered being somewhat enthused at the prospect of spending time with him, happy in their platonic relationship when they'd gone out one night after a study session…but altogether confused when the boy had attempted to kiss him.

_Sex doesn't alarm me, _he'd told Mycroft.

It was true. It didn't. Not anymore. As a boy, yes, he'd shoved his potential sexual partner away, favoring something less physical. But he'd soon learned most people expected sex where any sense of romance or partnership were found. And he'd abandoned the idea of such things long ago as a result.

Still, the point was he was confused by what had happened yesterday, but that didn't mean he needed to linger on it. Sherlock shoved the door of those embarrassing boyhood memories closed and looked up to see why John hadn't answered him yet on the potential substances Irene had used.

To his surprise, however, he found the room empty.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called.

He heard her tromping up the steps before she poked her head in.

"What is it, Sherlock? Is everything alright?"

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, he went out hours ago," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. "Is that all? I have a cake in the oven. Best not leave it too long."

"Why did he leave?" Sherlock asked. "I thought he didn't have work today."

Sherlock ran through the possibilities quickly. Girlfriend—there hadn't been one in weeks. Work—he'd already said no on that. Shopping—the kitchen had looked well stocked enough this morning. Hmm…friends? He hadn't been out with anyone recently…hadn't said anything either.

"He looked a bit upset. I'm not sure. Did you two have a little domestic?"

Sherlock sighed and didn't answer. Mrs. Hudson always was assuming they were a couple. He supposed he didn't really have the heart to tell her otherwise. And besides, all of John's protesting had been done in vain. No matter how many times he said he wasn't gay, Mrs. Hudson kept persisting. Well, not that Sherlock wasn't persay, but that just brought back all those confusing questions about what he really was and—no he was not dealing with this now.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Make me some tea?" Sherlock decided to say.

"Not your housekeeper, dear."

He rolled his eyes as she disappeared back down the stairs.

John had been upset? By what? He tried to remember what they'd last said to each other, though it was difficult for him to determine exactly when John had left the room. Had he said anything that seemed offensive? He didn't remember doing so. Perhaps that was only Mrs. Hudson's overactive imagination. No doubt she was watching some crap telly program while baking, probably inspiring all sorts of ideas about the drama that was going on with her tenants.

Hmm, but if John was out that left him plenty of room to experiment however he liked. Not a bad idea really. Should he try to figure out what the chemicals he'd had forced into him were? Or should he try looking into the phone number from which Irene had texted him? Really, that was a good mystery in itself. Figuring out why she was playing this cat and mouse game, what was in it for her. Was this simply the mode she operated in? He supposed she had something attractive about her, but nothing that really struck his fancy…not that anything usually did.

However, as he thought of Irene and what she'd done to him, a better thought popped into his mind. Why not do an experiment? The drugs had likely been swept out of his system by now. Or at least he didn't feel altogether different from normal. So, if he tried recreating the same scenario and seeing if it had the same effect—why that might shed some light on whether or not she'd drugged him or not.

Sherlock decided to recreate things to the best of his ability. He slipped back into the bedroom, closed the door in case John should come home for some reason—doubtful, probably out having a drink or something.

He laid down on the bed and unbuttoned his trousers. His body didn't seem the least bit interested. Recalling the spark of heat the day before, it seemed obvious to him that the effects had to have been caused by a drug, not normal bodily reactions at all. Nonetheless, he should continue.

His hand wrapped around his flaccid length. Again, very little reaction, even to stimulation. This was what he'd normally recalled, his body acting in its usual asexual manner no matter how hard he tried otherwise in his brief attempts to be a normal boy.

Nothing. He moved his hand a bit, acted as he had the night before, as best he could remember. After all, he'd been quite out of it so it was possible he was forgetting something. His body had begun to respond, but it was nothing akin to his reaction the previous time. No, he was certainly missing something.

Hmm, same pattern of stimulation, same location, same…

Ah! Sherlock recalled another element he'd previously forgotten. What had he been thinking about at the time? This was yet another problem with being sexually active, his disinterest in other people, especially in the sense of physical intimacy. He tended to usually focus on sensations if he was masturbating, but he thought he recalled thinking of something in particular last night. He'd started feeling aroused after—

After John had touched him. Well, under the effects of a drug it wasn't improbable that human contact had felt good.

But still, he remembered something about John in all of that. Thinking about John. Hmm…odd. Still, in scientific process he decided to repeat with the same variables to see if he had the same results. So he began to think about John. Imagining him there in the room, smiling warmly.

_"You look gorgeous_," he imagined John saying. The man moved to take his shirt of, revealing an expanse of pale flesh.

To Sherlock's surprise, his body responded. He was achieving an erection with this stimulus.

But why? How could that be? Perhaps the drug was still active. Sherlock decided to switch to another choice of stimulus. Hmmm…well who were other people he knew and seemed to like. Perhaps—Molly Hooper? Sherlock imagined her taking off her top and found this much less inspiring. His erection flagged. No, not that then. Men maybe? Lestrade? He nearly gagged at the thought, and that was enough to let him know that wouldn't be effective. There were few other people he cared about in any capacity. So John it was.

He settled on prolonging the fantasy. John was on the bed with him, one hand running down Sherlock's chest, reaching for his buttons on his shirt, working them open one at a time. John's mouth was on his neck. Having undone his shirt he was working his way down his chest, kisses and licks and—the heat was growing hotter, energy coiling more and more. How was this happening? This seemed impossible.

All he had to do was imagine John descending a bit lower, John's mouth touching him, John—oh John, John, John…

He moaned out the name stuck in his mind, and before he could process anything else he was coming.

As he lay there panting, trying to regain his breath and his mind, Sherlock tried to make some sense of the implications of this. Option A, he was still under the effects of the drug and therefore was stimulated by the thought of sex with someone who was attractive to him. Option B, he was experiencing some level of sexual arousal due to his high adrenaline inducing activities (this had happened before actually).

However, both of those failed to take into account the fact that only John had been interesting to him. He hadn't been able to stimulate himself without that image of the doctor joining him in bed.

Sherlock began to catch his breath. He heard footsteps outside his door. John! Blast. He reached for one of the already dirty sheets and began cleaning himself off before quickly buttoning up his trousers.

Making sure he didn't look too rumpled, Sherlock opened the door and ventured out to find John on the couch with his laptop.

"Alright?" Sherlock asked, trying to catch his breath.

"Fine," John muttered, staring down at his computer.

"Oh. Mrs. Hudson mentioned you looked—upset when you left. Is everything fine?"

"Hmm? Yeah, just needed a little air. Just felt a little overwhelmed with everything, your brother and the woman and all that rubbish. Figured I'd take a walk, pick up a few things at the store."

"Oh," Sherlock said. He examined John and saw no signs of a supermarket trip. He hadn't been to his room upstairs, nor had he made any movements in the kitchen. Odd. He was tempted to pry, but at the same time, if John was upset perhaps that was a poor idea.

He wandered back towards the bathroom, deciding to have a thorough wash before coming out to discuss possible future cases with John. Maybe they could find something new to occupy their attention. Though he wasn't ready to let the woman slip just yet, John hadn't seemed eager to pursue that.

So, on to showering in the meantime and then hopefully to fresher ideas, 'til he could figure out the confusing mix of whatever had happened. _Give it some time_, Sherlock though. _Repeat experiments would likely prove this was simply a fluke_. At least that was what he'd have to hope.

* * *

Irene paused, flogger in hand as she watched the screen.

"What happened?" Kate gasped. She wriggled on the bed, trying to get more comfortable with her arms bound to the headboard as she knelt. The only clothing she wore was a silk blindfold, but otherwise she was nude. Irene had pondered a gag but was glad she'd left it out.

"Dr. Watson's back," Irene murmured.

"Ooo, please say Sherlock is jumping his bones after his wanking section!" Kate jerked her head, trying to see behind her.

"No," Irene said with a sigh. "Sadly no. Sherlock is showering though. Mmm…he looks nice all wet."

"So do I," Kate said with a lusty wiggle. "And just a bit more of that, and I'll be—ooh!"

Irene smacked her again before looking back up to examine the detective.

"I think things have become a bit more interesting," Irene agreed. "But with our next week of changing locations, I don't know that I'll mind waiting a bit for the speed to pick up. Don't you worry, Kate. We'll have them both."

"Mmm yes, Miss Adler," Kate agreed with another moan.

Irene glanced away from the screen and turned her attention back onto the woman on her bed. She was just about to suggest moving from flogging to something else when a noise caught her attention.

There was a knock at the door. Irene froze and looked up.

* * *

**A/N: I just wanted to take this as a chance to tell people to embrace whatever sexual tendency you might have. I know I spent a lot of time in this chapter with Sherlock questioning what he is, wondering if he's asexual or bisexual or gay or whatever, but I figured it was a good chance to give this message about loving yourself no matter what you are, not sitting around wishing you could be normal (because normal is so dreadfully boring sometimes ;) ) Anyhow, preaching segment done.**

**Thanks to JessMill, emily . bond 368 for reviewing (sorry to those who reviewed a second time, don't want to cramp the story with too many thank yous). **

**Until next time- elsarenard**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Getting lots of great feedback/follows/favorites so I'm feeling a push to get more chapters out...even as I feel a bit intimidated by the number of people reading this! Eek. **

**Warnings- Usual Irene/Kate femslash. A little hetero with John/OC. Enjoy!**

* * *

The knock came again, more forcefully this time. Irene stood frozen only a moment before jerking to action, loosening Kate's bonds and grabbing for her gun on the bedside table.

"We know you're in there, Miss Adler," an American accented voice floated through the door. "You open this or we break it open."

"Are you ready for your performance?" Irene whispered to Kate.

"Ready as ever, Mistress."

"Good," Irene said, ripping open her dress without a second thought. Kate rolled over and Irene quickly moved to straddle her. She leaned down to begin a passionate kiss, just as there was a loud crack and thump as the door was broken inwards. She heard them pause, watching, momentarily shocked, momentarily interested. She knew the idiots wouldn't have any women or gay men with them, no one who could resist the siren call of hers and Kate's beautiful nude bodies wrapped together in passion.

Just five more seconds of distraction, before she pressed a button on her phone and a small explosive went off, knocking more than one of them off their feet. She pulled the gun up quickly, steadied it and shot at each of them.

"Are they dead?" Kate asked studying their still forms.

"Tranquilized," Irene sighed. "Such a pity they had to interrupt us. We were having such fun. Well, pack up the things darling. We need to move again."

"Yes mistress," Kate said, beginning a process she'd grown used to over the last year she'd spent with Irene. She began working to gather the essentials, knowing full well what Irene would expect brought and what could be left.

"We'll finish up when we move," Irene purred in her ear. "Break in our new bed all right and proper."

Kate smiled at that, in complete agreement. She shut the computer they'd left open to watch the two men. No bother really, nothing too interesting had been happening. Other than complete and total sexual frustration. But they'd look in after a few weeks of hiding out. Likely by then sparks would be beginning to fly.

* * *

The bloody phone had been sighing at random intervals for a good two weeks. John wasn't sure how much more he could handle. Hence the reason he was spending a good amount of time at his girlfriend's which she thought was sweet and he thought was convenient. Anything to escape from Sherlock Holmes and his moaning texts.

So therefore he headed off to his new girlfriend's for the night.

He'd asked a friend of his to set him up. Next thing he knew he had Cindi, some accountant who always wore polka dots. Sherlock had seen fit to comment on that right away. Or he'd mumbled some comment neither had caught, but nonetheless managed to seem like some kind of an insult…and probably was knowing Sherlock.

Anyhow, John was excited to spend the night with her. Nothing like being able to get some sexual frustration out. And with an attractive woman not his flatmate—

Cindi was thrilled to welcome him up to her place. She kept giggling about how she'd been worried he hadn't really been keen, considering he'd not spent much time with her in the last week. Well, that was Sherlock's fault with his latest interesting case.

"So," Cindi said, as she leaned back on the couch and batted her eyelashes at him. "We gonna shag or what?"

John smiled and set his wineglass aside. Taking one of her hands and leading her back to the bedroom. Cindi giggled the whole way along, sashaying in ahead of him and beginning to undo her shirt, revealing a polka dot bra underneath. John ignored that in favor of moving forward to begin kissing her. She moaned into his mouth, though he winced at that, reminded of Sherlock's phone briefly.

He tried his best to silence her, snaking his tongue into her mouth and affectively quieting some of the louder noises. His hands reached for the clasp on her bra, undoing it and allowing it to fall to the floor.

There was a sudden beep and John withdrew, pulling his phone out to glance at a text from Sherlock.

Need help with case. –SH

John rolled his eyes and shoved the phone away again. He turned his attention back to Cindi, kissing her, caressing her, enjoying her soft skin and attractive curves. He worked to get his clothes off, reaching for the condom in his pocket.

His phone beeped once or twice more in their progress onto the bed. He glanced at it before he finally surrendered to Cindi's attentions.

John where are you? SH

Boooorrreeed. SH

John tossed the phone away, hoping to not have to deal with more text throughout the day before moving to enjoy the rest of his time with Cindi, unhindered by thoughts of his obnoxious flatmate.

He threw himself into lovemaking. Enjoying Cindi's obvious pleasure, reveling in still being able to declare himself not gay as he made love to a woman. After all, what did Sherlock have that someone like Cindi didn't? She was kind and funny and beautiful. She had the curves, breasts, softness that he liked normally. Sherlock would be all hard muscle and awkward angles and…why the hell did that turn him on?

John tried to regain his focus as he continued in his pursuit, breath coming shorter as he approached his climax. He groaned loudly and finished, pleased when Cindi gave a gasping moan as well. Good, he'd done his job properly then.

He moved off her and collapsed to the side on the bed, panting as he tried to regain his breath. He wondered if she would be alright with him staying the night too so he didn't have to go back to Sherlock. However, when he turned to look at her he found her staring at him.

"What?" he asked. "Something wrong?"

"You're sick you know that," she spat at him. "Get out now!"

"Wait, what? What's wrong?" John sat up.

"Oh my god, you don't even know what you did," she guffawed. "Some boyfriend you are. Can't even moan the right name, you bloody bastard. Get out!"

"Wait, I didn't—" His mind was a bit fuzzy as he tried to think back to what he'd called out. He didn't remember crying anything out. But if he had—

"Cindi I'm so sorry, I only broke up with Sarah a few months ago. I'm probably just not in the habit…I swear if you give me another chance I won't disappoint you again. I didn't mean to I—"

"Who's Sarah?" Cindi demanded, jumping out of bed and grabbing for a robe.

"My ex. I'm sorry if I called her name. I…I've been distracted."

"Obviously," Cindi snapped. "But it wasn't her name out of your mouth either you…you…"

"Wait who did I call then?" John asked, blinking a few times. "Hold on, you're saying it wasn't Sarah either? Whose name came out of my mouth?"

"Sherlock," Cindi snapped. "Now get out. I'm not dating another gay man. I can't do it. Leave."

John's jaw dropped. He sat there a moment, scrambling to try to put the pieces together. Sherlock? He'd called Sherlock? How had that hapepened?

"Gay? Hold on, I'm not gay. I'm just—"

"Confused? Obviously. Get out. I'm not dealing with your sexuality crisis."

John's mouth opened and closed a few times, but he had no words. He stood up and grabbed for his clothes, throwing them on as quickly as possible.

"I'm taking a shower. You'd better be gone by the time I'm out," Cindi said. "And John? Don't call me."

"Wasn't planning on it," John muttered, sure his face was going to permanently red by the time he left. Could anything be more mortifying?

The door to the bathroom closed and he heard the shower start. John finished dressing and headed out. He tried to think about what had happened in the cab ride home, but really there wasn't much he could make about it other than the fact that he was clearly having some kind of sexuality crisis. No other men did this to him. He hadn't been interested in anyone before, even though he'd had more than one man hit on him in his lifetime. But Sherlock…there was just something about Sherlock.

By the time he arrived at 221 B John was thoroughly ready to be done. He didn't want to deal with cases or listen to that bloody phone anymore. He just wanted to find a way to get over the fact that he liked his flatmate, admit it and move on because there was no possibility of anything happening anyways. Or at least he assumed there wasn't. Sherlock had made his lack of interest quite clear.

He arrived upstairs to find Sherlock in the kitchen doing some sort of experiment. John sighed and hoped he wouldn't have a messy cleanup the next morning. Most likely he would though, knowing the detective's lack of concern for making the place clean.

"John, you're back. Was the sex really that bad?" Sherlock said.

John felt his face heating again. "You texted me. What do you need?"

"Hmm, oh I figured it out ages ago. Just thought I could get you back if I promised a good case."

"Bastard," John muttered.

"How is Sarah?" Sherlock asked.

"It was Cindi and we've broken things off."

"Oh, probably for the best. She has another boyfriend anyhow," Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes. "I'm going to bed."

"Hmm, bed? Why?"

"Because I'm tired and it's after midnight, and I don't have the energy to put up with you," John growled.

Sherlock didn't respond.

An orgasmic sigh rang out through the apartment. John gritted his teeth and walked back towards the stairs, not eager to hear any more after the horrible and embarrassing breakup. He just needed to sleep, forget. Hopefully by tomorrow everything would be better.

* * *

"Time for our next move," Irene said, licking her lips. She glanced at her phone.

_Let's have dinner_.

No answer, as always, but still, she liked watching his face when he read her words. No real interest there of course, but by tomorrow he'd change his mind.

"Next move?" Kate asked, glancing between her and the screen. This was one of their first sessions watching again since they'd settled in the cottage in the country. They'd left a nice dead end trail elsewhere, so they had hopes their enemies would leave them alone, at least for a while.

"Yes, you'll see. Sherlock really does underestimate me. Tomorrow will be so much more fun. Just you watch. Tomorrow, he's going to finally start paying attention to my messages."

Kate cocked her head but didn't question. She was aware that Irene wanted to surprise all of them. And it was more than likely that she would.

"If you can make him respond to your messages, I'll do that thing I did in Rome," Kate whispered.

"Darling, you'll do that thing you did in Rome if I order to and you know it, but I'll accept that bet. Best get yourself nice and ready then. I guarantee, tomorrow I'll have my first text from Sherlock Holmes."

Irene smiled, eyes lighting at the thought. She knew how to get what she wanted. Sherlock Holmes would come when she called.

* * *

**A/N: For anyone wondering Cindi was my interpretation of "the one with the spots" Sherlock lists when trying to figure out who is John's latest girlfriend. Thought that would be fun. **

**If you're expecting a quick entry into Johnlock…it should be obvious by now I'm going to draw it out a bit like Irene will. I almost jumped a significant amount, but looked through timelines and figured out the Woman case takes place in September so there's a long chunk before Irene is pronounced "dead" on Christmas eve. Obviously this won't all be canon, but I'm going to stick with some of the basics in that. **

**Thanks to S.B.N.O. for reviewing. Please read and review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for not updating sooner. Here you are!**

* * *

Irene was on edge the next day. She and Kate had been waiting hours for Watson to rise. Apparently his bad mood yesterday had made him decide to sleep in a bit.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Kate complained as she lounged back on the bed again.

"Patience, my darling, all good things to those who wait," Irene reminded her. "I do remember you enjoying when I made you wait yesterday."

"That was different," Kate said, sighing and closing her eyes momentarily.

Irene had to agree, it was a bit. Still, nothing good would come of rushing things. She looked towards Kate's reclined form and pondered another go, only to be interrupted by noise on the screen.

"Good morning," John was saying as he came down the stairs.

Sherlock didn't respond.

Perfect. Irene smile and reached for her phone. Kate's eyes popped open as well, and she scrambled up to watch the screen, beginning to smile as she realized it was time for Irene's bet to be tested. Would Sherlock finally respond to her? She did sort of doubt it, but there was no telling what strategies the women had. For all she knew, in a few minutes the two men would be a panting mess.

Well, she could hope at least. She leaned back, ready for the show to begin.

* * *

Sherlock hadn't slept much last night. Too much to think about, too much to do. Besides, lying in bed wasn't conducive to forgetting that John had been out having sex with his newest girlfriend last night. They'd broken things off, but he was sure the doctor would be finding a replacement girlfriend in the next two weeks. Further proof he would never want Sherlock. It didn't take a master detective to see John just wasn't interested.

He sighed and rolled over on the couch, wondering if he should attempt sleeping, or if work might prove a more substantial distraction.

His decision was cut off when John appeared coming down the stairs from his room.

"Good morning," he said.

Sherlock wondered if he should find a reply but finally thought better of it. He wasn't really in the mood to talk, especially with John.

"You checked to see if we have any cases?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed, steepling his fingers under his chin, wondering how long he could go in silence before John would become upset.

Just as he was about to finally reply, a noise came from his pocket.

A low masculine moan had emanated from his robe. John had spun around in the kitchen to stare at him, eyes wide, mouth dropping.

"Sherlock, what the hell was—"

Sherlock put a finger to his own lips and reached down to grab the phone out of his dressing robe pocket. He pulled out his phone and gazed down at the text.

_Good morning, sexy_.

He stared at Irene's text, trying to figure out what she'd done to suddenly change her text alert sound. He hadn't let his phone out of his sight once.

He looked back up towards John, the man's brow furrowed, eyes locked on Sherlock.

"Was that your phone?" he asked.

"It appears so," Sherlock said, only for another moan to sound from the phone. This time Sherlock was paying more attention, taking in the deeper voice, clearly a man's orgasm rather than a woman's. He tried to pay attention to the voice behind it. It sounded almost…familiar. He glanced at John, only to see the other man had turned bright red.

Another text appeared on the screen.

_Did you sleep well? _

"Does that voice sound familiar to you John?"

The other man's blush intensified from the question. Sherlock cocked his head, studying his flatmate for hints.

"Er…sort of…Sherlock it's…"

Yet another moan came from the phone, and this time Sherlock's ears picked up on it. John's voice juxtaposed against the ringtone gave him a complete sample to compare against. He took the o sound John had made and imagined lengthening it, adding a little variance in the pitch…yes…that fit rather well actually.

"It's you?" Sherlock asked, even as he checked the next text.

_I slept well since you didn't ask_.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the words, even as he became aware that John's mouth was moving a bit, though no sounds were coming out.

"How the bloody hell did she get ahold of that sound?" he asked.

"I was about to ask you," Sherlock said, looking up at the wide eyed doctor. "Or have you stopped keeping track of all of the women you sleep with?"

John stared at him momentarily before coming up with a reply. "First off, I don't sleep with that many women. Secondly, I would never go around sleeping with someone like Irene Adler."

Sherlock tried his best to keep his face neutral, even as he considered the possibility of John lying. Would John lie? Was that possible? But how else had Irene Adler gotten ahold of the sound of him moaning.

"What, don't enjoy that sort of thing?" Sherlock asked. "Sure seem to like it when I order you around."

John turned red again, and Sherlock realized that might have taken things a bit too far, especially considering that suggested something sexual when there wasn't anything like that between them. Perhaps he should back off a bit, it was unlikely John had slept with Irene. And besides, the thought bothered him enough he decided he'd prefer to just forget about it.

"I'll just change the sound," Sherlock suggested at long last, deciding this was a better alternative than continuing to grill John. He'd keep an eye on him though. Just in case this was real.

"Fine, yeah," John muttered. "We're out of eggs by the way. I think I'll go and get some."

"Sure," Sherlock said, even as he changed the sound back to a normal text alert.

"By the time I get back, you'd better have picked out a new case," John threatened as he started to head towards the door.

"Alright," Sherlock said, not looking up as he tucked his phone away. Another case, another distraction. It was a good idea. However, he was stopped from making any move to grab John's laptop by yet another moan coming from his pocket.

John spun around. "Thought you said you were changing it?"

"I was," Sherlock muttered. He pulled the phone back out and gazed down at Irene's text.

_Not quite that simple. Sorry sexy._

Sherlock frowned and stared at it. So he had been right, she hadn't gotten ahold of his phone. But then, how had she done it? Her cleverness was apparently boundless if she could find a way to change his ringtone without even being near him.

Stumped, he realized his options were limited. He didn't know enough about phones to manage to figure out what she'd done. But he knew enough about Irene Adler to know this was a game for her, and the best thing to do in these circumstances was to stop ignoring her and start playing.

He tapped out a message and hit send.

_Am I required to beg in order to have you change it back?- SH_

There was a brief pause before another moan filled the room. John sighed and threw his hands in the air.

"Jesus, Sherlock, is there any way you can turn that bloody thing down, or is the whole world going to have to hear me—well can't you silence it or something."

"I'm going to guess she can change that too," Sherlock said. "All things considered, I should probably get a new phone by the time this is done. Though I wouldn't underestimate her enough to think she couldn't get ahold of that too. She's nothing if not persistent."

_How about you send me a picture of you leaving a lovebite on your lovely Watson's neck. And a final product shot too. _

There was another moan and then.

_See if you can produce that same noise?_

Sherlock stared at it for a moment. A picture of him…he swallowed at the mere though. Could he do that? Would John let him? Would he make that noise?

"She says she'll change it if I send her a picture of me….um…me…giving you a…um…well…a..."

He passed the phone over and John looked at it, eyes widening again. He cursed under his breath, then handed the phone back over.

"I'm not doing that."

"So we'll be hearing your moans for as long as Irene Adler decides to use them," Sherlock pointed out.

"We'll deal with it," John muttered. He turned back towards the door as though to leave, probably still focused on getting some eggs for breakfast.

"You do realize I have no control of when she texts," Sherlock said. "It could be in front of Mrs. Hudson. It could be in front of Lestrade on a case. It could be with a client."

John froze, standing in the doorway just a moment. Sherlock waited patiently, and sure enough the doctor was soon turning around to shoot him a glare.

"Fine, you're right. Let's bloody well get it over with."

John moved over to the couch, sitting down beside Sherlock and pulling at the neck of his jumper. Sherlock frowned and reached for his phone, turning on the camera before adjusting the angle to fit both of them in.

He leaned in closer to John, admiring the familiar smells of John's aftershave, deodorant, shampoo, but also the muskier scent that was purely his. The smell of John. He breathed it in for just a moment, well aware that John would grow impatient if he took too long. But this was his chance. A moment he could enjoy being close to this man he'd come to feel attracted to…

"Erm, Sherlock," John interrupted. "Can you please just do it?"

"Oh right, sorry," Sherlock said, straightening just a bit.

"You do know how to do this, don't you?" John asked.

"Hmm? Oh, well…" Sherlock broke off. He knew the basic principle, of course. Sucking on the skin most commonly the neck would result in broken blood vessels creating a distinctive bruise. But he had no practical experience with these things.

"Would you…like me to show you?" John asked.

Sherlock felt suddenly very out of breath. He managed a nod, trying his best to school his face, attempting to give John every indication this was merely to stop Irene from bothering them, not for any other purposes.

John leaned in and Sherlock felt lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and merely let the sensations wash over him. It felt undeniably good, John touching him there. He'd never realized the neck could be such a sensual area, but under John's mouth it certainly felt much more important than the part of the body holding up the head. Sherlock did his best to restrain a moan, clenching his teeth even as he prayed that his body wouldn't give much response.

"Sorry," John said, pulling back. "Was that alright?"

"Hmm? Interesting, yes. Um…now you…for the photo."

John sighed and bared his neck again. Sherlock leaned in, lips brushing soft skin on John's collarbone. His tongue peeked between his teeth, tempting him to taste the offered flesh, but he knew that would be going too far. Instead, he leaned in and placed his lips on the spot offered. He pressed the phone into John's hands, realizing John might have a better angle for the whole thing. A soft noise escaped the doctor's mouth, but thankfully there was a snap from his phone, and he knew the picture was over.

Sherlock relaxed and withdrew, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to move back in, kiss along that beautiful neck, up to John's jaw, move til their lips were connected and then just—

"Alright, need one of my neck too, right?"

The detective tried to pull himself out of his fantasies, but it was difficult. He grabbed the phone John was offering, and quickly snapped a picture of the reddened mark. It hadn't really bruised yet, but he suspected it would within an hour.

He sent both of the photos off to Irene's number, waiting a long moment before a reply came with a breathy female sigh. Well, that wasn't much of an improvement, but at least now it wouldn't be John moaning through his phone.

_Thank you. I'm hungry. Let's have dinner_.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuck his phone back in his pocket. He turned back to John who was still staring at his neck.

Another beep had them both jumping. Sherlock pulled his phone out yet again, noting this time it wasn't from Irene. Thank heavens, he was growing tired of her games.

_Crime scene at Bletchley and Wenlock. Confusing. Meet there?-GL_

"Lestrade, crime scene. Want to go?" Sherlock asked, looking up to meet John's eyes yet again.

"We might both want to…er…make sure to cover up before going to the crime scene," John said.

Sherlock tried and failed to look at his own neck. He shrugged. "A scarf will do."

"Right. I'll grab a turtleneck jumper instead. Just don't want Lestrade suddenly asking questions."

"Well, you have a girlfriend, it wouldn't be unnatural for you to have a hematoma on your neck of the sexual variety."

"_Had _a girlfriend," John said with a scowl. "And these are still embarrassing to explain even with a significant other in the picture. I mean, normally you don't do these on purpose, you know. They just sort of happen in the heat of the moment."

Sherlock shrugged, what would he know about such things. Yet another reason John would never want him. His inexperience. His awkwardness in sex, in relationships, in knowing how something as simple as a love bite functioned. He let out a long sigh before rising to walk towards his bedroom. John was right, best to cover these marks up, pretend they'd never happened. Hope no one would ever have to find out about their awkward little encounter.

John's shame was reasonable, and Sherlock was at least willing to comply in keeping all of this quiet. For the sake of his troubled heart still trying to determine what had happened just now, why he was walking away from the man he clearly cared for, both physically and emotionally. The man who had just been through girlfriends and would likely have another by the end of the week. He sighed, readied himself to wrap a scarf over the mark, only hoping later to examine it in the mirror, have a little reminder of the one instance he'd held John's attention…probably the only one he'd ever have.

* * *

"I don't know how I thought you'd be wrong," Kate said with a sigh. "You're never wrong."

"Of course I'm not," Irene said with a smile. "So I'll be expecting a repeat of Rome in the next few days."

Kate sighed and shrugged. "I suppose it won't be all that hard. How did you change his phone anyhow?"

"I had a good few hours before I took it back," Irene pointed out. "I dropped it by that IT chap's place. The computer whiz…whatever you want to call him. He's brilliant, though nowhere near Sherlock's level. Merely gifted with technology."

"Oh yes, the one who wanted to be put in that atrocious outfit and hogtied and flogged?" Kate asked, smiling at the memory of Irene's videos.

"Yes, that's the one. He fixed it up for me. It was perfect. I knew those little features he gave me would come in handy."

"And John's moans? I know you didn't sleep with him, even if Sherlock had a hissy fit in his jealousy."

"Oh darling, you forget I know his ex. Cindi…you know that accountant I played with last fall?"

"Ohhhh," Kate said with a laugh. "Yes I had forgotten her. So you had her record him when he came for sex? Very clever, mistress. So, what's next? Some pictures of love bites can't be all you're planning."

Irene looked towards her assistant and lover, red lips twitching up into a playful smile.

"Of course not, darling. I have great plans for these two. Wondrous plans. Now, why don't I tell you a few while you do that thing you did in Rome."

Kate smiled and got down on her knees on the floor. "Anything for you, mistress."

"Good girl," Irene said with a heady sigh. She closed her eyes momentarily, readying herself with those clearly laid out plans. A few surprised would be good for Kate, but she'd give some of the major details. There were so many delicious options. So many endless possibilities.

* * *

**A/N: Well, hope that will tide you over for a bit. More within the week, I promise! Thanks to ChuYumeAkirameru, Tanja88, JessMill, and The Archfiend for reviewing. **

**Feedback, if you have any, is always great. I don't have a lot set in stone as of yet, so suggestions are also welcome if you have any fun ideas. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: That was a bit longer than a week. Sorry folks! Here you are!**

* * *

Kate looked at the screen, pouting as she stared at the empty flat. Honestly, she wished Irene could engineer some way to keep the boys home for longer intervals. It was no fun with them always dashing off to new cases.

"What now?" she said with a sigh.

"Now, we put our next move to work," Irene said over her shoulder, busy at her vanity putting on a fresh bit of makeup. Kate watched as she expertly added a perfect line around the rim of her eyes. Sometimes it felt like there was nothing Irene wasn't good at. Now if only she could speed up the little game they were playing on Holmes and Watson.

"So, what's the next move?" Kate asked, getting up and walking over to place a hand on Irene's shoulder. Irene's gaze fixed on hers through the mirror, blue eyes gazing intently up at her companion.

"Well, do you remember that lovely secretary we three-wayed with last March?"

"Mmm…oh the one with those delicious looking fishnets?" Kate asked.

"Oh yes," Irene said rouged lips curving into a bright smile.

She rose and walked over to the computer, fiddling with it until a new image popped up. Kate gazed at a room where the secretary was standing talking to several people. Kate recognized one of them as some inspector Sherlock was associated with.

"I'm afraid the poor dear had her house broken into yesterday evening," Irene said with a smirk.

"Oh you set up a crime scene for him, how sweet!" Kate said.

"Very sweet," Irene said with a chuckle. "Just a little idea I had that I presented to Shannon. It looks like it worked. I'm guessing Mr. Holmes won't have too much trouble figuring it out. But I have a bit of an alternative motive for sending him there."

Kate knew there would be no point in asking, so she went and sat on the bed to watch instead.

* * *

John tried his best to not make things any more awkward than they needed to be, but the cab ride to the crime scene was rough. Sitting next to Sherlock, remembering what they'd done only shortly before. He'd try to subtly eye the detective, and thankfully Sherlock seemed to be off in his own little world, not paying a speck of attention to what John chose to do.

John's mind had wandered back to earlier, thinking on how it had felt, Sherlock sucking at his neck. It had made him wonder what Sherlock's mouth might feel in other places. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

"Are you quite alright, John?" Sherlock asked.

John jumped and looked back at his friend. Sherlock's blue eyes were examining him quizzically.

"Yeah," John said, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Er…you?'

"Hmm." Sherlock said, not answering. By the way his eyes had focused back on the window, John suspected he'd gone back into his mind palace.

Trust Irene Adler to make things completely awkward between them. If only Sherlock wasn't asexual, everything might work right. He could just explain how he was feeling and maybe they could—it was absurd, but still John's mind lingered on the possibility. Sherlock was probably one of his best friends. He was amusing and brave, intelligent, creative, a bit of an arse but otherwise and impressive man. John couldn't deny there was something undeniably attractive about Sherlock, beyond just physical characteristics that he'd recently begun to admire.

The cab pulled up to a curb beside several police cars. John sighed, trying to clear his head as he stepped from the vehicle, grabbing for his wallet to pay the cabbie even as Sherlock immediately stalked off towards the crime scene.

See, reasons to not like him, always assuming John would pay for their cabs. The doctor grumbled to himself as they reached Donovan who was waiting for them in the doorway.

"Up the stairs, third floor," she instructed. "I'm heading off to answer another call. But Greg should be there."

Sherlock ignored her and passed through. John thanked her before following up after, reaching up to straighten his collar. Hopefully it wouldn't slide or anything. Couldn't have people like Donovan knowing what he and Sherlock had been up to earlier.

Lestrade was waiting for them with two other detectives in the living room of a nicely furnished flat. He sent the two others off when he saw Sherlock and John, saying they had it handled. As the two detectives left, Sherlock and John began examining the crime scene. Sherlock's eyes were already roving over the place, but John was riveted by the sight of the woman with the detectives.

She had long dark hair, an attractive face in spite of the fact she didn't have any makeup on. She was wearing a silky red dressing gown that nicely complimented her pale skin. She was tall and thing, and he had to admit he was immediately attracted.

"Oh Sherlock Holmes, thank heavens," she said when she saw them. "I couldn't believe it when the police said they were going to call you. My lucky day getting to have a famous detective work for me."

She strolled over to them, shaking Sherlock's hand first, then John's. Her deep brown eyes fixed on his.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson," she said, smiling. "I'm a huge fan of your blog."

"Oh really," John said. "Pleasure's all mine Ms…"

"Leach, Shannon Leach," she said.

"Indeed you are," Sherlock muttered.

John elbowed him before giving her his full attention.

"Right, Ms. Leach…So, what can we help you with?" he asked with a smile.

"Shannon please, I insist," she purred.

"Right, what's the problem?" John asked.

He glanced around the flat. There was no sign of a dead body.

"Burglary," Sherlock said with a sigh. "Really Lestrade, do you have to be dreadfully _boring_? What was stolen? Or would you like me to guess that too?"

"My boss loaned me a diamond necklace for a gala last night." Shannon sighed and went over to sit on the sofa beside a large golden retriever. She petted him and sunk back into the cushions. "I set it on my table last evening along with some cash. I'm afraid I arrived home late, so I didn't have any chance to put it away properly. When I got up this morning, both the necklace and the cash were gone."

"And she told us she locked the door first thing when she got home," Lestrade interrupted. "There's no sign anyone picked the lock or anything. Dead bolt was still on when she woke up. The windows in the place only open a couple of inches."

"So someone took the necklace and the money, but there's no signs of burglary," Sherlock muttered. "Well, let me have a look then since you're proving yourself so utterly incompetent."

The detective headed off towards the other side of the room, back to the door to examine it for clues. John was getting a sense that Sherlock might prefer some alone time. Lestrade was already following him over. So he decided to stick with Shannon.

"Are you sure you took it off here?" he asked. "I mean, you said you were tired, any chance you forgot anything?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure what I could have missed. I know it was on my neck when I arrived home. And the money was there too up until I went to bed." She paused and gave him a warm smile. "Why don't you come sit next to me and Sissy, Dr. Watson? I promise she doesn't bite…though I can't make quite the same promise for me." She gave a wink.

John chuckled but did take her offer and came to sit on the magnificently soft sofa beside their client. Shannon moved in a bit closer to him even as she continued to pet her dog.

"So, tell me a little more about your evening. What gala did you attend?"

"An animal rights gala, wasn't it?" Sherlock called from the door. "Only one going on last night in the city. Or at least only significant enough one to have you want to have nice jewelry for the event. Funny considering when you came home you made yourself a snack of meat…"

She had the decency to blush. "I will admit animal rights are not my highest priority, but my boss needed me there. So yes, when I came home I was hungry and cooked up some bacon and eggs. Honestly, having all those vegan foods…I needed something a bit more substantial."

"Of course," John said, trying his best to be understanding since Sherlock had been so rude. "So, you got home. Locked the door. First thing you did?"

"Well, I did see to Sissy first. Took her out. Gave her a quick little walk, all that. But when I came back I did the locks, I went and took off my dress, but I left the necklace on. Cooked some food and had that. After I was done I took the necklace off, left the dishes in the sink, and went to bed."

"Obvious," Lestrade said. "Guy got in when she was out walking the dog. Hid, then stole the jewels and money when she took them off and went to bed. Left through the front door."

"And somehow managed to do the deadbolt behind him?" Sherlock said drily. "Use your brain Lestrade."

The other detective folded his arms and sighed. Sherlock in the meantime was now looking through the rest of the place. Carefully examining the table where the jewel had been left, wandering back to the kitchen to look things over.

John settled back on the sofa and asked Shannon a few more questions. Mostly he just admired the way the dressing robe emphasized her lovely curves. She was very pretty. And from the way she kept smiling at him, he was getting the idea she was keen too.

"You must keep pretty busy as a secretary," he remarked.

Shannon smiled. "Oh yes. A bit. But I like finding time to go out too. Spend some time clubbing or doing things with friends. I just need to pick up another boyfriend."

"Oh yeah?" John said. "Me too. Er…I mean I'm looking for another girlfriend. One can only spend so much time cooped up with Sherlock Holmes before you crack."

She laughed at that, though out of the corner of his eye, John thought he saw Sherlock making a face.

Well, no need to think about that. Sherlock didn't want him. He never would. Why not try to forget with another attractive girlfriend? Really that sounded like a brilliant strategy to him. She continued to smile at him, asking him more personal questions now.

"Would you two like some coffee?" she asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great," John said with a smile. "Just black for me. Sherlock you want any?"

The detective looked at him for a moment from where he was examining the windows. "Black, two sugars please."

"Alright, coming right up. Detective inspector Lestrade, any more for you or anyone else?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," Lestrade said. "So, any leads, Sherlock?"

The detective ignored him and continued inspecting the windows. Lestrade just sighed and checked his phone instead.

Shannon came back a few minutes later with two cups of coffee in her hands. She smiled at John and started walking towards the sofa. At the exact same instant, Sherlock spun around, likely to go check on something else, and he collided into her head on. Shannon gave a startled cry, especially as most of the coffee managed to splash across her dressing gown, though some hit Sherlock in the chest too.

"Oh, my apologies," Sherlock said. "So sorry. Why don't you go change, I'll clean this mess up and continue investigating."

Sherlock apologizing? John's eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on his friend, trying to determine exactly what Sherlock was up to.

"Thank you," Shannon said, though her glare his way indicated most of her annoyance. "I'll just go put something clean on. Be right back."

Sherlock muttered to himself as the door to her bedroom cleaned.

"Er…compromising the integrity of the crime scene, are we?" John asked from the sofa.

"Hmm…oh just an accident. I wasn't paying much attention to her. Too many more interesting clues."

Sherlock had found a towel and mopped up most of the mess. After that was done he reached up and undid his scarf, pulling the wet material away from himself and setting it on the chair. Next came the coat. Which was when John remembered why it was imperative Sherlock keep them on.

"Sherlock er…you might…"

He broke off. It was too late. Lestrade had looked up from his phone, and he'd apparently caught sight of it. In the light of the windows it was easy to see the dark bruise on Sherlock's very pale skin. The otherwise unblemished column of neck marked with one solitary and obvious blemish.

"Hold up, where'd you get that?" Lestrade asked, pointing at Sherlock's neck.

The detective froze for a moment. "Hmm? Oh, this thing. It's nothing."

Lestrade's jaw had dropped. "Hang on, is that…no…couldn't be…Sherlock is that a… who're you seeing?"

"No one," Sherlock snapped.

"You're holding out on me," Lestrade said. "That's a love bite. Seriously, you're seeing someone?"

John groaned and sank further back into the sofa. The golden retriever moved a bit closer, sniffing at him curiously. He patted its head to distract himself a bit, hoping it didn't come down to Sherlock just blatantly telling the truth. The man sometimes didn't think about those types of things.

"It was an experiment of sorts," Sherlock said.

"I'll say. What's her name? Do I know her? Seriously, you're telling me right now. I've never seen you date anyone, I've got to know."

"I wanted to examine bruises more thoroughly. As I didn't have a live human test subject (John was out…probably getting milk or something), I decided to use myself."

"Still, you couldn't have given yourself that mark. Where'd it come from? Who gave it to you?"

John sighed. Lestrade wasn't going to leave off with the interrogation. It was quite obvious to him now that eventually the truth would have to come out. Perhaps Sherlock would merely lie and say someone else's name. But would Lestrade believe it? Then again, would he even believe the truth? It was hard to say. Still, the anticipation of seeing if Sherlock would hide the truth or not was killing him.

"I borrowed Mrs. Hudson's Hoover."

Lestrade just stared at him for a moment and then shook his head.

"Yeah sure, whatever you say."

"Now, if you're done bothering me with meaningless triviliaties, perhaps you'd like me to solve this case."

"Yeah, alright," Lestrade agreed.

He left Sherlock be and came over to where John was sitting with the dog.

"You know who gave him that mark? I don't believe the Hoover story."

"Beats me, sorry," John muttered, watching Sherlock go back to work.

Lestrade sighed and shrugged. Thankfully, some of the tension was diverted when Shannon appeared dressed in a black skirt and button up top.

"Much better," she said with a smile. "I'd offer more coffee…"

"No worries," John said. "We'll pick some up later."

She came to sit down again, though this time she laid her hand on John's thigh. He couldn't say he minded.

However, just then Sherlock's head shot up from where he'd been examining the table again.

"I've got it. Obvious really."

"Oh come on, don't do that. Just tell us," Lestrade said with a sigh.

"Tell you? You're too blind to read the signs. The burglar is in the room with us at this very moment."

John glanced around. He couldn't mean Shannon could he? Pretending to have her jewels stolen seemed a bit odd.

"Wait, you mean he's still hiding in the place?" Lestrade asked. "Guess that would work too, huh?"

"Shut up, Lestrade. No. I'm surrounded by idiots."

He strode briskly over to stand in front of Shannon. Her hand left John's thigh rather quickly.

"Last night you made a dinner of bacon and eggs," Sherlock stated.

"Yes."

"And you sat at the table and ate them. And you took the necklace off before taking your plate to the kitchen sink. That means you didn't wash your hands in between the two acts, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed. "But what does that have to do with—"

"The necklace, and probably the money too, would have both had grease stains from the bacon then. There's a few other greasy fingerprints on the table area. Although a few of them are quite smudged nearer to the edge. Also, may I point out if this really was a true burglary, the criminal likely would have taken the fine silverware in your kitchen, or even your television set. No far too much left here."

"So?"

"So, no one could have come in or out. We've already determined after the deadbolt was set there was no way a criminal could have broken in without leaving signs either through windows or the door. As Lestrade has suggested, a man could have waited inside, but that's highly unlikely. You know, it's funny because most people are well aware that robbing a house with a dog is a big risk. Yours in fact sleeps on the sofa based on the amount of fur accumulated there. Right in front of the door. No one would have been able to get in and out easily."

"Get to the point, Sherlock," John said with a sigh.

"Obvious. You aren't the only one who likes a bit of meat. Your dog was out here while you were asleep in your bedroom. You left bacon grease on the table and likely on the necklace and bills since you didn't wash your hands. The smudges appear to be saliva. I don't see you being willing to lick your own table, so it's likely the dog smelled the grease and licked it up…"

"And ate the bloody necklace," John finished with a groan. "And the bills too."

"Oh my god," Shannon gasped, turning to stare at Sissy who was wagging her tail.

"There, mystery solved. My only suggestion to you is taking rubber gloves with you on future gloves. You'll get your necklace back, eventually. And in the future I would leave your valuables in a more safe location. Good day."

He went back over to the chair, picked up his coat and scarf and strode towards the door. John sighed and got up as well.

"Thanks for your hospitality. Glad we could help, er…sort of."

"Thank you," she said. "Also, would you like my number? Wouldn't mind seeing you again, Dr. Watson. I'm sure we could find lots of other mysteries for you to solve," she said with a small wink.

"Yeah," John agreed with a grin. "Yeah sure."

She asked for his phone and he handed it over, letting her type in her contact information.

"I'll see you again sometime then," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, definitely. Well, I'd best be off. You have a good rest of your day. Best of luck with your dog."

"Thank you," she said, before walking him to the door.

Sherlock was scowling at the pavement by the time he got downstairs. The detective didn't even bother looking at him. Merely set about hailing a cab.

"Well, that was interesting," John said.

"Utterly boring. I don't know why Lestrade wastes my time on rubbish," Sherlock muttered.

John just shrugged and went back to silently waiting for the cab. He wondered when, if ever, things would feel normal between the two of them again.

* * *

Shannon had turned to give the camera a little wink. Irene smiled and closed the computer. That had gone even better than expected. Watson had thrown himself at her plant with no problems, while Sherlock had acted in clear jealousy. Oh the looks he kept shooting the two on the sofa. It was simply adorable.

"So, you think Watson will actually date her?" Kate asked.

"Oh I have no doubt. I thought she'd be perfect. Sort of a feminine replication of Sherlock. Give him a little extra confusion," Irene said with a smile. "And she's promised lots of videos and information and all that. She really is darling. We'll have to three-way again sometime."

Kate licked her lips at the very thought.

"In the meantime?"

"We leave Sherlock to stew a bit," she said. "Play on both of them in getting a bit jealous. Continue to confuse John. I have good confidence in the plan. In the meantime, I need you to keep an eye on those American gents. Don't want them barging in on us again."

Kate laughed. "Oh, come, you loved every minute of that. Or are you really going to deny your exhibitionist kink?"

Irene smiled. "No. I can't deny it. But it is a bit more fun when it's merely shocking people, not risking your own neck with the possibility of being shot at. Men and there guns. Silly things."

"Alright, I'll try to investigate that. In the meantime, you plan out giving me some more action from those two," Kate said.

"I'll try, darling," Irene promised, leaning over to peck at her lips. "But no guarantees. I think these two are going to be more stubborn than I'd initially thought. But eventually both of them are going to get what's coming."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to ChuYumeAkirameru, kismet38, and Mrs. Shezza Watson-Holmes for your feedback! Especially for the suggestion on Lestrade (though of course he doesn't know the full truth of course). **

**It might be a bit til the next update. I'm going on vacation for a week, so no promises on when then next one will be up. Just keep an eye out!**

**Please read and review! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: My poor poor followers, I have let you down and I apologize. I've been really involved in my other two WIP's and didn't even realize how much time had passed. Be warned updates will probably continue to be infrequent, but I do want to finish this story I promise. Here you are!**

* * *

Irene took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and relaxing back into the steam. She allowed herself to linger just a moment before she turned off the tap. Sliding a hand over her skin to remove some of the water, she admired the soft texture and the near perfect shave of her legs.

Stepping out she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to confront it, only to see Kate rising from a stool to the side with a fluffy towel.

"Thank you darling," Irene murmured, allowing Kate to wrap her up before moving to kiss her lips. "You should have joined me."

"Oh, I was busy watching the feed for a bit," Kate said. "It's been a while since I've checked it."

"Not much happening?" Irene asked. "Or that's what I would assume at least, especially considering you didn't come get me."

"No," Kate said with a sigh. "Those two just still can't seem to realize what's going on. I'm getting sick of watching pathetic sex between John and Shannon. How long are you going to let that go on?"

"I've told Shannon to drag it out a bit," Irene said. "But I think the end to that relationship is coming soon. She's complained more than once that she's tired of dealing with his half-hearted attempts at shagging her while thinking of his flat mate."

"I can't believe John is so blind to the way Sherlock looks at him," Kate huffed before reaching out to smooth Irene's hair before reaching for a comb.

"Can't you?" Irene said, raising an eyebrow. "Honestly darling, I remember someone being quite oblivious to romantic looks."

"Well, first off I had no idea someone like you could go for someone like little old me," Kate purred. "And besides, it was before you converted me."

"Hmm yes back when you insisted you weren't gay," Irene said with an eye roll. Her eyes caught Kate's in the mirror, boring into them with a level of heat that caused Kate to squirm.

"I'm still not," Kate said. "I'll have you remember I'm bisexual, hence why I want to watch those two boys shag so badly. Not all of us like to make things as complicated as you in our sexual labels."

"To define is to limit," Irene said, licking her lips. "And really darling, what's the point? If I had to pick something for your sake I'd say pansexual homoromantic."

"Hmm…I like it," Kate said. She worked the comb deeper into Irene's scalp, causing her to let out a soft moan. "I really never thought you'd go for me. What with all your brainy is the new sexy and all. I was so shocked the day you finally made a verbal proposition."

"Verbal? Darling you walked into your room to find me naked in your bed."

"Yes, and then I went 'oh she wants sex' which you did which completely rocked my world of course. And after a few weeks of that, then you mentioned being interested in continuing things…I just never thought you'd want me…for more than the sex. Not with how stupid I am."

"Every good brain needs a heart," Irene said lips curving into a smile. "My lovely Kate, what would I do without you?"

Kate just smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. She pulled away to bat her eyelashes and beam at Irene.

"Is it a vanilla night?" Kate asked, cocking her head to the side even as she continued to give the most adoring smile.

"Yes," Irene said. "I think it is."

* * *

Sherlock gritted his teeth as he looked over at John for the hundredth time. How could the man be so oblivious? It seemed quite obvious to him that Shannon was using John in some respect. He wasn't quite sure how exactly, but he had a bad feeling about her. He knew that his deductions should spring from actual evidence, but with Shannon it didn't matter. She was absolutely repulsive and he couldn't believe more than a month had gone by since they'd first met her. Shouldn't John be right on schedule to be finding a new girlfriend by now?

Not that that would be any better, of course. Sherlock had to keep reminding himself that another girl could be worse. The awful polka-dotted woman for example had been dreadful. Sarah had been bearable, but even the thought of her now made him feel furious.

He went over to pick up his violin, intent on finding something to distract him from the fact that some giggling bitch was sitting on his sofa room with her hand on John Watson's knee acting like she owned the place.

"Er Sherlock," John said when he picked up the instrument.

"Yes?" he said, spinning around, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.

"Er…we're sort of trying to talk, mate? Mind playing in your own room or upstairs or finding something more quiet to do?"

Shannon's dark eyes were boring into him, the smirk on her mouth made him want to spit.

"Fine," Sherlock muttered, setting the instrument aside. He went to sit in his chair again, steepling his fingers and doing his best to descend into the recesses of his mind where there might be something to comfort him. Why must John torment him this way?

After what felt like eternity, Shannon rose from her seat, thanked John and grabbed her coat. He smiled at her, eyes warm. Sherlock's jaw clenched involuntarily, becoming even tighter when John leaned over to kiss Shannon, long and passionate and far too intimate for Sherlock's liking.

John walked her out. Sherlock waited until he heard the door of the cab close before he went to grab up his instrument a second time, immediately starting to practice now that he didn't have to worry about Shannon.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then John was back up. He glanced at Sherlock and sighed before running a hand through his hair. His eyes closed, and Sherlock tried to put himself back into his music rather than paying attention to the aesthetics of John in the low lamplight.

"I just can't win," John muttered, walking over to plop down in his chair, slumping immediately and letting out another long sigh.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock said, setting his violin down in favor of listening to what John had to say.

"Sherlock…look…if I'm over with Shannon you're texting me constantly, if I'm over here you won't speak to me…do you see my dilemma?" John said. "You act like you're bored and lonely, but the moment I bring her over you start acting like you have too much to do."

"So?" Sherlock said.

"Well, it just puts me in an awkward position," John said. "You know, having to either be with her and having you constantly texting me, or having her here feeling unwelcome with your cold shoulder."

"Don't blame me for your recent decline in participation in sexual activities," Sherlock muttered.

"Oh you shut up you bloody wanker," John said. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn't it? You're frustrated. You're annoyed Shannon isn't behaving as you want in the bedroom. And therefore you're taking it out on me. Why don't you go let off some of that steam with a few of those lovely pornographic videos on your computer?" Sherlock said, looking up to stare at John pointedly.

"Shut up," John snapped, turning away and going back to the door. "Honestly Sherlock, I don't know what you want from me."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, straightening as he watched John go to the door.

"Out," John said, grabbing his coat and throwing it on. "And I expect you not to text me unless there's a case, understood?"

Sherlock didn't reply. He was still trying to process. John was angry with him. Why was John angry with him? Other than the obvious of being sexually frustrated, he couldn't really find a logical reason for John to be feeling such.

Sherlock hadn't been rude to the bit—er…John's girlfriend. No, he hadn't been friendly but really did John expect him to start small talk with her and smile and act all hospitable all of the sudden? He'd always thought John was unique in understanding how he didn't get on with others. But for once John seemed to be taking their side instead of his. Apparently some girl he'd met a month ago was now more important than his flat mate.

The door downstairs closed, and Sherlock sighed. Perhaps he should find something to distract himself with. Anything to not think about John probably going over to Shannon's and begging her for sex. Sure, apparently it hadn't been going well judging by the more regular times Sherlock heard John wanking in the shower, but that didn't mean John wasn't going to attempt intercourse with her tonight.

Sherlock stood, stalking over and scooping up John's laptop. He'd changed the password yet again, but really it wasn't too hard to tell. A few of the letters were smudged from where he'd been eating while typing yesterday, and it had been around then Sherlock remembered getting a glare.

He guessed it in three tries. Really John could be less obvious.

Sherlock pulled up the internet and started doing his basic scans. Perhaps seeing what John's basic history was might help him gather a bit more data as to his flat mate's behavior. Sherlock nodded and set to work doing a basic scan of that.

Blog. Email. Porn. Searching a recipe for pasta. Porn. A map search of a restaurant address. Youtube. Porn. News. Some dreadful social site Sherlock was sure to avoid. A dating service. Porn—

Sherlock paused and glanced at the dating website. Why on earth would John need to be on a dating website? He already had a girlfriend. Perhaps he had simply been scanning the market for a more suitable choice. Or…maybe he was trying to help a friend…or…

He was running out of theories so out of curiosity he clicked on it. It looked fairly average. Smiling couples on the homepage. He clicked the login box, but was surprised to see that unlike other sites, John hadn't let it remember his username or password. Well, that was problematic. More for the username than the password issue (it was probably the same as his other logins).

There was a noise from his phone, and he looked up from the computer, glancing at the screen to see yet another text from Irene Adler.

_I like your funny hat_.

He rolled his eyes and went back to searching. Why did she need to be so dreadfully boring? Especially when he had something like John's private life that was far more interesting to him.

There were several minutes of attempting various versions of John Watson as a username. But Sherlock wasn't having much luck. Jwatson. JohnWatson. JHWatson. Johnhwatson. He even tried John's favorite numbers after a variety of those. But it didn't work. There were simply too many combinations. Perhaps if he went into John's email he could find the original login information or reset the password.

However, when he tried John's email he had no luck finding anything of the sort, even in the trash and junkmail folders. Realizing he might have used another email, Sherlock scanned the history to see if his hunch was correct, only to find a second email. He pulled it up and again was surprised to see that John hadn't left his information.

Eyes narrowing, Sherlock tried his suspected email address and password combination only to have an error box pop up.

_Password hint: FUCK OFF SHERLOCK!_

He rolled his eyes and closed out of the email account entirely. Clearly John wanted to keep this from him, though why he wasn't sure. Still, he'd find other means to wrestle out the truth.

In the meantime something to occupy his attention. Sherlock shifted in his seat, but his interest was piqued by the multiple listings of porn sites. What he'd told John probably held true to himself as well. Sexual frustration was bothersome…especially considering he hadn't experienced it much before. So perhaps…

He opened one of the links. The first things he found were some videos with very busty women, but he soon found another on the site with two men that looked slightly more appealing. Of course, as he began watching, Sherlock couldn't deny that nothing was taking him to the same level as his own self-pleasure thinking of John. Still, he watched a bit longer, wondering if perhaps he should try stimulating himself.

There were footsteps. Sherlock looked up to see John entering the room again, and he froze up. Moans were being emitted from the laptop on the table. John's eyes narrowed.

"What the _hell_ are you doing!" John snapped.

"Just an experiment," Sherlock muttered, finally managing to stop the video in its process. He exited the tab quickly, just in time as John grabbed the laptop, and pulled it away.

"Stay off my computer," John growled.

Sherlock said nothing, too caught up in trying to make his deductions about John.

"Why are you back so soon?"

John shot him a glare. "I went for a walk," he said. "What expected me to circle London and then come back?"

Sherlock shrugged. He didn't really know what to say. What, sorry John I'm having a crisis where I find myself attracted to you and I wanted to watch some porn to see if that would help? Or John would you please just come have sex with me so I might stop feeling confused? No, he had enough social awareness to know one didn't spring that on someone. Especially a friend who had no inclinations towards the same sex.

He opened his mouth to speak only to have another female moan come from his phone. He glanced to see a text.

_I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner_.

John's scowl deepened. "Well, I'm going to go to bed. And I'm taking this," he indicated the laptop, "with me."

Sherlock frowned and did his best to keep disappointment out of his expression as John disappeared upstairs. Bed? It was barely even ten. That was atypical to say the least. All of these odd behaviors and Sherlock still couldn't make a clear deduction other than the obvious that something was _wrong_.

Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway. Sherlock was at least grateful that she hadn't walked in on him. Small mercies, he supposed.

"Lestrade's downstairs waiting for you two," Mrs. Hudson said. "Says he's got a case."

Sherlock nodded. "Fine. I'll be down in a moment."

"Do you want me to go tell John?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I'll go alone."

"John doesn't want to come, dear?"

"No," Sherlock said. "He's quite tired. I'll be down in a moment. Please go inform Lestrade."

Mrs. Hudson frowned but did head back to the stairs. Sherlock stood and went to grab his coat, wondering for a moment if it was the right thing to do, leaving John upstairs. On the other hand, maybe a case would distract him. But Sherlock wasn't sure he could handle having to look at John tonight. Seeing his perfect smile and knowing it belonged to someone else.

Sherlock shook his head and headed downstairs. Lestrade was waiting in the hallway, glancing at his phone. He looked up on seeing Sherlock.

"All right, John coming?"

"No," Sherlock said.

Lestrade's eyes bugged out. "Really? What, he off at that bird's place again? Can't believe they're actually going out."

"No," Sherlock said. "He's tired. I thought I'd leave him be this evening."

"Hmm yeah. You two had a fight didn't you? Come off it, what happened?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing, now don't we have more important matters at hand, like a case?"

"It's nothing crucial, so what happened? Don't you be trying to put me off, I know you and John have been all out of sorts for months. So what was it this time?"

"Just something about his girlfriend again," Sherlock muttered. "I suspect he's merely sexually frustrated and taking it out on me."

"Cor, don't say it that way, sounds pretty bad," Lestrade said with a grin. "John taking his sexual frustration out on you."

Sherlock stiffened. "I didn't mean it in that respect. I'm simply suggesting that things have been rocky between them and it has been causing John a certain level of…moodiness. Now, the case?"

"I'll tell you about it on the way. But seriously, nothing else besides the girlfriend problem? I swear John's been acting odd for a few months."

"No," Sherlock muttered.

"Seriously, I sent him that video of you when you were all drugged up and thought he'd laugh his ass off, but he seemed to get really angry about it," Lestrade said as he walked to the door.

Sherlock's brow furrowed, but he again couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation for such behavior. Perhaps John was angry with him then? Had he done something wrong?

Well, no point dragging it out. Sherlock followed Lestrade to his car, trying his best to stop thinking about John Watson for a few minutes.

However, as they were pulling away, he looked up to see John's face in the window. In the darkness he couldn't make out an expression, but the curtain pulled back a moment later and then the light flicked off. Sherlock felt something in his stomach twist painfully, and then Lestrade was pulling away from Baker street, and he did his best to forget.

* * *

Irene jerked up from the bed to the sound of her phone ringing. She groaned and managed to extricate herself from Kate's tight embrace, sliding out of the sheets to go and grab her mobile. She stared down at the number for just a moment before steeling herself and answering.

"Hello," she purred.

"Oh Irene, so glad I caught you. Thought you might be sleeping by now." His voice came in a singsong.

"No, I'm quite awake," Irene said.

"Oh you naughty naughty girl," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Who've you been screwing this time?"

Irene glanced back at Kate still fast asleep. "Oh I can't even remember his name…not sure he would have had a chance to say it with the gag in anyhow…so it's really no matter. Now, what was it you wanted?"

"I'm wondering how you're coming on cracking that lovely code you promised me," he said.

Irene stiffened. "I've been a bit busy. Had some American chaps coming down on me, I'm afraid. But I am getting to it."

There was a chuckle that had goosebumps breaking out on her arms. "I thought we had a deal? I leave you the virgin and you gave me those codes."

"I said I'd give them to you when I knew what they were. And I'm afraid I don't quite have that aspect figured out," Irene said. "And besides, we both know you prefer him alive anyways. What fun is a world without Sherlock for a man like you?"

"Hmm, well a little tip on the Holmes boys, the Ice Man's pressure point is his brother. His brother's is—"

"John Watson," Irene Adler said. "I know."

She ran her fingers over her dresser, wondering if Moriarty was already aware of her little plan. Most likely. She wasn't sure that boded well for her or her boys.

"Good. I'm sure it shouldn't be that much of a challenge for you," Moriarty said. "Getting Sherlock to solve it for you."

"I will see to it soon. The Americans really have upset some of my plans, but I'm working on it."

"You'd better," he said. "Or daddy's going to get very angry. Daddy doesn't like waiting, Irene. You'd best get it soon."

Irene's jaw clenched. "I'm trying."

"Good. Maybe a little more time of that, and a little less time fucking that pretty redhead bitch?"

Her fingers curled tight around the phone, eyes darting towards Kate on the bed, naked and peaceful and oh so vulnerable looking.

"I have a healthy sexual appetite," she said. "Not all of us can be asexual psychopaths, darling, it simply wouldn't be practical."

"Well, it would be sooooo unfortunate if something were to…happen to her," Moriarty purred. "Get working on Sherlock. Wouldn't want to have her simply disappear."

"You touch one hair on her head and I'll—"

"You'll what darling? You just showed me your hand and you've got no cards left to play," he said. "So, why don't you just be a dear and get the job done for dear daddy Moriarty. Then you and your pretty plaything can have all the time you want."

"Fine," Irene said. He was right, she had no bargaining power anymore. However, a thought did strike her. "Though I think you'll appreciate if I take my time a little…you see…I'm trying to play a little trick on Sherlock…"

"And what would that be?" His tone was bored, but she knew she'd caught his attention.

"Why get him to admit he's in love with dear Dr. Watson?" Irene said with a smirk. "And I think in many ways that might just play out to your advantage, wouldn't it dear?"

Moriarty was silent for a moment. She bit her tongue to keep herself from making any noise, simply waiting. She looked back at Kate again. It was a risky move, and it was one she did regret in some ways. The Baker Street boys were supposed to be her pet project, and now Moriarty might decide to mess with it, but she supposed there were sacrifices she had to make. Her priorities needed to be picked.

"You have a month," Moriarty said. "If I don't have it by then…say goodbye to Miss Howard."

Irene nodded. "Fine," she said. "I'll have it in a month. A little Christmas present for you."

"Hmm…perfect. Have a lovely evening Irene. I hope to be hearing from you _very_ soon."

Irene hung up without another word. She stood for a moment, considering. Risky, but it had worked. Now she had a month. It didn't seem like nearly enough time, but it would have to do.

She climbed back into bed, curling up around Kate, and sighing as she felt her partner relax into her embrace. Irene whispered a few soft nothings into Kate's ear before kissing her cheek.

"He'll never hurt you, my darling," she whispered. "Never."

* * *

**A/N: Anyhow, so so so sorry again on long wait. If I find more inspiration for this I promise to try to post more frequently. Also, reviews definitely give me more motivation! **

**Thank you to DevilChild101, and ChuYumeAkirameru for reviewing!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I decided to jump a bit because otherwise I feared it really would start dragging. Figured the past chapters gave some idea of what's been happening between first meeting Irene and the Christmas Eve party. **

**Like previous chapters, some sections of dialogue have been stolen from "A Scandal in Belgravia" but some bits and pieces will deviate from the original.**

* * *

Her eyes settled on the package neatly hidden amongst Kate's garments. If she hadn't been looking for that key she'd hidden weeks ago, she probably would never have seen it. But there it was. Confirmation of how few days she had left. Kate would never realize what a burden such a small thing could be.

A month. She'd had a month. And she'd gotten nowhere. With the CIA on her tail, she'd had far too few opportunities to really work on Sherlock Holmes. She'd moved a few pieces on her chessboard, but she'd never gotten so far as to actually force his hand.

John was on the third girlfriend. Fifth partner if you wanted to count the dalliances he had with men. And Sherlock continued to pine and brood. In fact, many of his actions had only driven John further away if anything. They were working fewer cases together. Perhaps she'd been wrong in some of her methods, but really the two required a hands on method she simply didn't have the time for.

And without having her plan in motion to force Sherlock's hand on the issue of love…she didn't have the ability to play her move of achieving his help. It was one more reminder why she so often preferred women over men. Less afraid to voice their feelings. Unlike her two stubborn boys.

"One day," she murmured, turning to look at the feed that she had continued to watch. Nothing of interest had happened, but still, seeing Sherlock and John in their daily lives was interesting. Like watching two animals in their natural habitats….

Her phone rang. Irene paused and looked down at it. Moriarty. She didn't dare pick up. All it would be was a threat. And at the moment she simply didn't have time for those.

Irene turned the gift from Kate over in her hands, admiring the smooth paper, put together with perfection and clear attention to detail. A silver rope had been used instead of ribbon. Lovely. Perfect. Just like Kate herself.

It only made Irene's decision more painful.

She knew it was necessary. Moriarty and the CIA were both closing in. Neither would care about Kate really. Not so long as Irene wasn't with her…not so long as Irene was…

She banished the thought, not eager to dwell on it. It was Christmas, she should be a bit more cheery she supposed. She had her plans made. Kate would live. But perhaps death would be kinder than…

The package was becoming crinkled in her hands, so she set it aside. Perhaps she should open it. Perhaps she shouldn't. There was no right answer. In the meantime, all there was left to do was to treasure the last moments she would spend alive.

And also lay her last few plans for the brilliant Mr. Holmes.

* * *

John was doing his best to keep his mask in place. But honestly, every day it was becoming more difficult.

_It's Christmas Eve, just put a smile on for a few more hours and it will be fine_.

Mrs. Hudson was fussing over everything. Getting the decorations up and making food for all of them. John finally managed to convince her to just leave a sign on the door telling people to come upstairs in order to get her to sit down for a bit.

As he helped himself to a drink, he couldn't help but reflect on the past few months. They'd felt like eternity.

He'd been dumped by Cindi. Dumped Shannon. Tried internet dating in order to meet some blokes (see if that made a difference). Hooked up with a man in a bar. And he'd now been with Jeanette a little less than a month.

John glanced at Sherlock who was over by the windows with his violin. If Sherlock had figured out he was experimenting with men he hadn't said anything. Then again, Sherlock had seemed rather self-involved lately. He hadn't seemed to notice much of anything around John. It had taken him two weeks to realize John had broken up with Shannon.

"But why?" Sherlock had asked.

"Oh…um…decided I didn't like her…nose," John had said, cursing himself for not coming up with a better excuse.

"Oh yes, well too much plastic surgery can do that to a person."

After Shannon John had actually gone on a few dates with Andrew, who he'd met through a dating site. He was a decent fellow, but he wasn't what John was looking for. They'd mutually agreed to not see each other again after a third date.

And then the bloke at the bar who he'd ended up snogging and gone home with…it had been quite pleasant over all. But it just confirmed for John that the problem wasn't about needing men. It was about needing Sherlock.

He watched Sherlock's hand on the violin again. The man's eyes were closed, concentration fully in playing a short little round of Christmas carols. Mrs. Hudson looked positively gleeful on the couch, still drinking. John sighed and decided to go make himself useful and make her some tea. The party had barely started and she was already tipsy.

Lestrade arrived while he was in the kitchen.

"How are you?" Lestrade asked.

"Hmm? Fine," John said, setting the kettle on the stove. "Can I offer you a drink or anything? Mrs. Hudson's made all kinds of lovely things to eat."

"Well of course she has," Lestrade said with a smile. "How's Sherlock been?"

John glanced back towards the sitting room, but he saw no indication that Sherlock was paying them the slightest speck of attention. He took another drink.

"He's still been…disagreeable. But that's Sherlock for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, seems like this bout has been lasting longer than normal though," Lestrade muttered. "Especially with you."

"I just handle it better than others do," John said. "Really, he's always a bit of an arse. Holidays don't help either."

Lestrade snorted. "Good point. Well, gonna grab myself a drink and go try some of those sweets Mrs. Hudson made then."

John nodded.

Jeanette was the next to arrive. She came into the kitchen and kissed him.

"Merry Christmas," John said.

"Yeah. Think we can sneak away later for a bit of private gift giving?" Jeanette asked.

"Oh," John said. "Sure. Private. Yeah that'd be fantastic."

"Just figured since you're going to your sisters it might be nice to have our Christmas time before you leave."

John looked across the room at Sherlock again, still playing carols. But he'd turned somewhat, not facing John anymore. Still, it gave a better view of those shoulders, arms working the bow gracefully across the strings. The whistle of the teakettle pulled him away from his thoughts.

"John?" Jeanette said.

"Hmm? Oh yes sorry. Yes we can find some time tonight."

He took an extra long swallow of his beverage before he grabbed the kettle and set about preparing a cup of tea. Once done he headed back to the sitting room, handing Mrs. Hudson the tea before settling down with his glass of wine.

"Lovely, Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs. Hudson cried, giggling. "I wish you could have worn some antlers."

John had a moment of weakness and pictured Sherlock naked with nothing but antlers on. He shook off the thought and quickly chimed in,

"Marvelous."

He ignored whatever Sherlock was saying, trying his best to concentrate on simply enjoying the evening. He needed to simply appreciate the time with his girlfriend and his friends and simply relax. None of that nonsense to mess everything up.

Jeanette offered Sherlock something to eat, and he lost his concentration when he heard Sherlock use the name Sarah. It set off memories of Cindi again…how he'd called out the wrong name. Blast, no. He wasn't losing another girlfriend because of Sherlock bloody Holmes. He and Jeanette hadn't even had sex yet. He wasn't going to have things end so soon.

"He's not good with names," he said, trying his best to pull her away, but Sherlock had apparently decided that he didn't want to drop the subject.

"No no no, I can get this," Sherlock said. "No, Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then…who was after the boring teacher?"

John wanted to groan. Why did Sherlock need to be so utterly insufferable? As though it wasn't enough that John was constantly fantasizing about him, he had to make things uncomfortable with his girlfriends too.

"Nobody," Jeanette glowered.

"Ah Jeanette! Process of elimination," Sherlock said, beaming a very fake smile, eyes fixed on Jeanette with a level of irritation. John's jaw clenched, but he did his best to not do anything rash. He settled on pulling Jeanette away.

"I don't know why you live with him. He's absolutely horrid," Jeanette muttered. "And I work with seven year olds who can be complete brats."

"I'm sorry," John offered. "I know he's awful sometimes. He just takes a bit to get used to. He'll come round, don't you worry."

"Well, you'd better make it up to me tonight," she said, batting her eyelashes.

John offered a half smile. Well, there was a small victory. At least she still was interested in having their "private" Christmas party together. He took another long drink. Maybe alcohol would make the time go faster.

He looked up in time to see that Molly Hooper had arrived. She was offering greetings in her usual cheery tone, a lovely lipsticked smile in place. Her arms were overflowing with bags of gifts. He came over to see if she needed help, not missing Jeanette's glower as he did. And of course as she shed her coat he noted she looked particularly beautiful tonight in a black evening gown.

"Holy Mary!" he said with a grin, unable to help himself. Perhaps he'd had a bit too much alcohol already, but who was he to deny Molly looked lovely? He was so used to her in lab coats and slacks that the sight of her in such feminine attire was shocking. He wasn't the only one anyways. Lestrade's jaw looked like it might just be stuck open.

"Having a Christmas drinkies then?" she asked as he took her coat.

Sherlock muttered something that sounded disdainful before going over to open up John's laptop. John did his best to ignore it as he hung up Molly's coat.

Of course, he was distracted by Sherlock commenting about his blog.

"The counter on your blog still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."

"Oh no, Christmas is canceled," John said, unable to think of anything more creative or clever to say. He was secretly pleased Sherlock was looking at his blog. The amount the detective passed it off as trivial had been annoying, but apparently he did think it worthy of a check every so often.

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

"People like the hat," John said. He was sincerely glad he'd said the word people instead of the word I. Honestly, he could stare at that picture all day. The hat did look lovely on Sherlock somehow. It suited him. Made those cheekbones look sharper, those eyes look more intense, those lips—

"No they don't. What people?"

Sherlock was thankfully distracted by Molly making a comment about how bad Mrs. Hudson's hip was. John took it as an opportunity to go sit by Jeanette, eager to get away from the tension of having to explain exactly what people liked the hat.

"Don't make jokes Molly," Sherlock muttered, creating even more tension in the room. John sighed and took another gulp of his drink. He'd need to get another soon at this rate.

He took Jeanette's hand in his, trying to focus on the comfort of having her next to him. This was supposed to be a nice evening. Of course, Sherlock didn't help but continuing to make incessant comments about each of them, telling Lestrade his wife was still sleeping with someone else.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's?" Molly said.

John raised a brow, wondering where she'd gotten that information. He hadn't talked to her much recently. Sherlock had been doing more cases by himself and as a result he hadn't gone to Bart's quite so frequently.

"Sherlock was complaining," Molly said. And then she seemed to realize what she'd said. "Saying," she corrected.

Complaining? John shot Sherlock a look. With how grumpy the detective had been lately John had figured he would probably relish having some alone time. Apparently it was just the opposite.

"Yeah, for the first time ever she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze!" John said, raising his drink.

"Nope," Sherlock said.

John frowned. "Shut up, Sherlock." He raised his drink back to his lips for another swallow. Why did he need to be so insufferable? Especially during Christmas. Mrs. Hudson was busy saying it was the one time of year they had to be nice to her, but apparently that didn't apply to everyone else. Sherlock just had to make Greg realize his wife was still cheating, and ruin John's hopes that Harry was finally pulling herself together, and make Jeanette feel uncomfortable. And right on cue, Sherlock seemed to realize there was one member of the party who had been left out and his attention fixated on Molly.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him."

A groan nearly left John's mouth. Did he have to do this now? If Molly hadn't mentioned a boyfriend clearly she didn't want to talk about it. She probably was still sensitive about the subject after dating Moriarty.

"What? Sorry, what?" Molly said, lowering her drink. John took that as his cue to have another sip of his.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

_Why do you bloody well care? _John thought to himself. In fact, some part of him was looking at Sherlock and wondering if this was jealousy speaking.

"Take a day off," John muttered. Lestrade likewise put in his comment, trying to get Sherlock to leave Molly be. Did he have to ruin everything?

_This is the man you're in love with_, John thought. _This arrogant prick is the one you want to spend your life with._

John wasn't quite sure why he even would think such things in the moment. His eyes drifted to his own present to Sherlock tucked neatly under the tree. Light blue with snowflakes. Apparently the shop keeper had thought it was for his girlfriend and had chosen a more feminine wrapping paper without asking him. He hadn't really had the heart to correct her.

Of course, John came out of his thoughts to find Sherlock continuing his deductions, moving on from commenting on Molly's present to making remarks about her appearance.

"And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…"

John prickled at the mentions of Molly's appearance. She looked lovely of course, but Sherlock wasn't the type to remark on those things. Or at least he usually wouldn't. Why was he paying attention to the size of her breasts? Perhaps it was jealousy working after all. Perhaps Sherlock fancied her.

Sherlock had trailed off for some reason. John frowned, but couldn't make out why that was. Molly in the meantime looked near tears.

"You always say such horrible things," she said. "Every time. Always. _Always._"

It was inarguable. John didn't dare rise to Sherlock's defense. He didn't have the energy or the desire to. He downed another gulp of alcohol and let the pleasant sensations of that wash over him.

But something in Sherlock's expression appeared to have changed.

"I am sorry. Forgive me."

He had to consciously stop his mouth from falling open. Sherlock apologizing? Apparently he was actually dreaming. That had to be it. He was in some awful Christmas nightmare and would wake up any moment.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

And then Sherlock did the unthinkable. He leaned in and kissed Molly's cheek. John felt his stomach drop, his whole body tensing as he stared at the man he loved kissing someone else. Married to his work? But apparently blood well able to kiss Molly after being horrible to her. John didn't even know what to say. Thankfully he was interrupted from having to say anything by Sherlock's phone.

"No! That wasn't ... I – I didn't ..." Molly stammered, looking horrified.

"No, it was me," Sherlock assured her.

Both Lestrade and Molly reacted with shock. Jeanette looked intensely uncomfortable by the whole situation.

"My phone," Sherlock said, pulling it out to look at it.

John felt sick. Between Sherlock's horrible attitude and him kissing Molly, another text from Irene bloody Adler was the last thing he could take. He'd had it.

"Fifty-seven," he said. "Fifty-seven of those texts-the ones I've heard."

"Thrilling you've been counting," Sherlock muttered.

Sherlock was looking at his phone. He frowned and then looked up at John.

"We need to talk," he said. "Alone," he clarified when John didn't move.

He strode off towards his bedroom. John hesitated only a moment before apologizing to Jeanette and following Sherlock into the other room.

"What?" he demanded, as Sherlock closed the door. "What is it?"

Before he could say another word, Sherlock leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

John had no time to think. Suddenly Sherlock's mouth was on his, arms tugging him a bit closer. He felt himself groan, relaxing into the kiss. One of Sherlock's hands had come up to cup the side of his face, and then his tongue was tracing gently along his lips. John felt himself hardening in his trousers. God, no other kiss felt like this. Jeanette's seemed childish in comparison.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Sherlock was pulling away, leaving John gasping and alone and confused. The fog of alcohol made it easy to just focus on the sensations, but deep down something in John knew that he needed to say something, not just lean in and kiss Sherlock again.

"Sherlock I…"

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. He stared at John, those calculating eyes boring into him, stormy and mysterious and altogether beautiful. A shiver ran down John's spine, and he tried to reach for Sherlock again. Another kiss. That was all he wanted. Make Sherlock know it was all right. He was aware of his body continuing to respond, erection showing him to be willing and eager and he just needed Sherlock's mouth back on his…

As he leaned in to kiss his friend again, Sherlock pulled back again. John opened his mouth to protest, to say it was all right. To say he was just relieved that he wasn't going insane and that Sherlock wanted him over Molly or Irene. But before he could Sherlock said the most heart-breaking words of the night.

"Necessary for the case I'm afraid."

And then he was stalking to the door, opening it and heading back into the living room as another orgasmic sigh broke out.

What the…

John was left in confusion and despair. What had that been? Necessary for a…

Oh god. Irene. Her weird fetish with having Sherlock touch him and…he thought back to the kiss in her house and the love bite a month later.

He swallowed, trying to figure out how he could have ever thought the kiss was anything real. His erection was flagging thankfully, which was good news considering he was going to go back into a room full of their friends and have to try to pretend nothing had happened.

Taking a deep breath John ventured back out. None of them were paying attention to him though, as Sherlock appeared to be picking up something on the mantle piece. John caught sight of a red package sitting there. He hadn't noticed it before, but Sherlock had scooped it up and was making a hasty retreat back to the bedroom.

"Excuse me," he said.

"What—" John's voice broke somewhat and he concentrated on getting his words out in a normal tone. God he shouldn't be thinking about that kiss but he was. "What's up, Sherlock?"

"I said excuse me," Sherlock muttered and continued back to his room.

"Do you ever reply?" John tried, desperate to get some kind of answer. Why had Sherlock stopped sharing things with him? Why had this started happening? When had Sherlock decided to start being so bloody secretive?

His lips were still tingling. God he kept thinking back to Sherlock's hand on his face, his thin body right there in front of his. If he'd just stepped a few centimeters closer he could have rubbed his erection against Sherlock…seen if the detective was equally aroused…

But no such thing. Instead Sherlock was busy opening mysterious packages in his room rather than attending to the package John wanted taken care of….God he was so horny. John just hoped Jeanette would make up for it tonight. He downed another large swallow of his drink and tried not to think about it.

After a long moment he decided to follow Sherlock to his room. He excused himself from the company, catching yet another annoyed glance from Jeanette that he ignored. Walking down the hallway, he was relieved to see the door still cracked open. He pushed it the rest of the way to find Sherlock sitting on his bed talking with someone on his phone. Mr. Prefers-to-text actually talking on his bloody mobile.

"No, I mean I think you're going to find her dead," Sherlock said.

He hung up and lowered the phone. John hesitated only a moment before stepping a little closer.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, unsure if he should even bring anything about the kiss up. Sherlock's face appeared drawn. He had looked fairly moody all evening, but this…this was a different expression, one John couldn't quite define.

"Yes," Sherlock said as he came over to the door.

John wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss him again. Maybe? Was it possible? But part of him knew Sherlock probably had been telling the truth when he'd said it was just for a case. Married to his work. Yes, that made sense. Kissing John for work. Not for pleasure. Not out of desire for him or anything else.

And then Sherlock confirmed it, and the door slammed in his face.

Tears threatened to break forth. He swallowed thickly and did his best to not give in to his emotions. His fists curled, and John let the anger grow instead of the sorrow. Better to be upset with Sherlock than to be sad. Better to pretend.

He went back out to the sitting room and apologized saying he didn't think Sherlock was feeling well. The rest of them did their best to still enjoy some drinks and food and gift giving. But there were several uncomfortable glances shared throughout the evening. Molly left not too long after the gift exchange, saying she'd been called in to the morgue. She gave her apologies and said goodbye.

"Things just get weirder and weirder," Lestrade muttered. "Say, you know what's eating Sherlock? And that gift? You know anything."

John shrugged.

"I swear, he's been acting weird for months now. And I didn't believe that experiment excuse on the love bite shit. You sure you don't know if he's seeing anyone?"

John swallowed, thinking about Irene Adler and his certainty that she was behind everything that was happening right now.

"I don't know," he said.

Lestrade grunted but seemed to be satisfied with his answer and left it alone.

About an hour later, Sherlock reappeared, but it was only to grab his coat and scarf before heading out the door. John tried to ask if he wanted company, but his answer was no. John did his best to not act too hurt, grabbing his fifth drink of the night and settling back next to Jeanette. It was around that time he had a call from Mycroft. He apologized to the company and went to take it.

"Hello John," Mycroft said. "Is Sherlock with you?"

"No. I don't suppose you know anything about his mysterious disappearance," John muttered.

"Yes, I'm afraid we believe Miss Adler has been found dead," Mycroft said. "For that reason, I'm going to ask if you're willing to do a drug sweep."

"What?" John asked.

"A drug sweep. If she is dead tonight is very likely to become a danger night. Can you do that for me?"

John sighed. "Fine. Fine."

"I'm going to offer him a cigarette. If he takes it…then we'll know."

John closed his eyes and nodded. He sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen.

Mycroft hung up without another word. John put the phone down.

"Er…I…Mrs. Hudson can you come speak with me in the kitchen?"

"It's getting late, I'm going to head out," Lestrade said with a sigh. "Good night. Lovely to meet you, Jeanette."

She gave a very false looking smile. John sighed and stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson following behind him worriedly.

"What is it? Was that Sherlock?"

"No," John said. "Er…Mycroft. We…need to check the place. Make sure he's clean…Mycroft thinks it's a danger night."

"Oh dear," she said, glancing around the kitchen. "I'll start here. You do the sitting room."

John nodded, thankful she understood. He walked out into the other room and began checking the places he'd known Sherlock to keep his stashes before. He could feel Jeanette's eyes on him as he walked around the place. He knew she had to be thinking about their promises to have a private Christmas celebration at her place. Well, as soon as he was done with this he was going to go shag her silly and forget all about Sherlock and his bloody drug problems and his obsession with Irene Adler.

Time passed. The search seemed fruitless. Mrs. Hudson could be heard frantically rooting around in the bedroom. John shook his head as the call from Mycroft came in. Perfect. He downed another swallow of wine before answering.

"He's on his way. Have you found anything?"

John sighed. "No. Did he take the cigarette?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes. Why did this have to be happening? Sherlock Holmes had to finally have feelings for someone, right around the time John started to realize how much he needed him. Sherlock and his bloody timing.

"Shit." He turned to look at Mrs. Hudson. "Ten minutes."

"There's nothing in the bedroom," she said.

"Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?" John asked, reaching up to rub his temple.

"No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John."

"I've got plans," he said, shooting a look at Jeanette. He had drunk enough that he was almost willing to tell Mycroft exactly what those plans entailed. _I'm gonna go shag my girlfriend to stop thinking about your brother_.

"No," Mycroft said. And then he hung up before John could get another word in.

John sighed and tucked the phone away. Well, that was just perfect. His one good part of the evening was about to be ruined like everything else.

He gathered his courage before stalking back over to the couch and sitting down next to Jeanette.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"You know, my friends are so wrong about you," Jeanette said. "You're a great boyfriend."

He was perplexed by that. All he'd heard from her before was complaints. This was new. Perhaps she had picked up on some of the Christmas spirit or something. Or maybe she'd been drinking as much as he had. He hadn't been watching her closely enough to tell.

"Okay…that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great."

Jeanette's frown deepened and she glanced at her watch. "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man."

John was so startled for a moment he didn't even know what to say. Sherlock? Wait…but he quickly caught up and realized what she was implying. He groaned. Just what he needed. Sherlock getting involved in one more part of his life and ruining it.

"Jeanette, please," he begged.

"No, I mean it," she spat at him as she slid her shoes on. "It's heart-warming. You'll do anything for him – and he can't even tell your girlfriends apart."

"No," John said, trying his best to salvage the situation. "_I'll_ do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I'm not doing. _Tell_ me!"

She pulled on her coat and turned to look at him. "Don't make me _compete_ with Sherlock Holmes."

_You can't compete with Sherlock Holmes_, John thought, but he didn't say it.

"I'll walk your dog for you. Hey, I've said it now. I'll even walk your dog ..." John said desperately. He needed something. If he didn't have Sherlock he wanted someone else in his life. Couldn't Jeanette understand? Sure, he might not love her as much, but she was what he could have.

"I don't _have_ a dog!" she said in complete disgust.

It takes him a minute to process that, but soon he realizes his mistake.

"No…because that was…the last one," John mutters.

"_Jesus_!" she said, turning towards the stairs.

"I'll call you," John called after her.

"No!"

"Okay," John muttered.

Mrs. Hudson was standing there looking at him. "That really wasn't very good, was it?" she said, obvious pity in her gaze.

John sighed and shook his head. "Nope. Not really."

"It was a terrible party," Mrs. Hudson said with a sigh as she went to start picking up glasses.

John went to sit down. "Oh no, it was…lovely. You…did a wonderful job…"

"Oh that's sweet of you dear, but it's all right. Sherlock has been in a mood for quite some time now," she whispered. "What happened with you two?"

John shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, whatever it is, I hope you figure out a way to fix it."

He sort of doubted that was even possible at this point, but he didn't bother telling Mrs. Hudson. He simply poured himself another drink and sat down with a book.

John kept drinking and reading. Another few minutes passed and then there was a noise on the stairs. He turned to see Sherlock's form in the doorway, eyes passing over the room suspiciously.

"Oh, hi," John said, doing his best to not slur his words. His head felt pretty fuzzy, and he had a good feeling Sherlock would see in a heartbeat that he was tipsy if not drunk.

After a moment of silence Sherlock turned to go to his room. "I hope you didn't mess up my sock index."

The door slammed and John sighed. So much for a thank you. Giving up his girlfriend. Sitting here by himself reading a book while Sherlock possibly got high in his bedroom. Closest he would ever coming to being Sherlock Holmes' boyfriend.

* * *

Irene sighed as she watched from the window. She'd been tempted to go to the hospital and see Sherlock's reaction herself. But this was more important. She had to keep an eye out. Make sure Kate didn't do anything stupid.

Currently the little she could see through the curtains was Kate lying on the bed. She should have bugged the place before she'd left. But somehow in the moment her mind hadn't been on Kate. It had been on her. Finishing faking her death. Finding the right body. Bashing in the face. Ensuring it was planted in the right place so it would be found by Kate (painful but necessary) and making sure Sherlock knew of course. She knew the phone would be safe in his possession. And therefore Kate wouldn't be in danger. Of course she'd wanted to make one more attempt at pushing John and Sherlock in the right direction.

Her gaze fixed on Kate. Her poor darling. Alone and mourning the death of her lover. If only Irene could have told her the truth. But that put both of them at risk. It was safer this way.

Irene sighed and pulled her coat tighter around herself before walking back out of the room. She couldn't linger too long. She'd simply have to go into hiding. For now. Someday she hoped she could come back to Kate. It would just take some time.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to JessMill, UneFilleOrdinaire, and MycroftTheGingerCat for reviewing! Reviewing helps me know I'm doing something right and keep going! **

**Till next time!**

**-elsarenard**


	10. Chapter 10

**Warnings: There is some smut in this chapter. Not a lot, but some. Please be warned (don't like don't read).**

* * *

She'd planned it out well, Irene decided. The body really was flawless. Her proportions precisely. Dark hair. All it took was a little damage to the face…a little tampering with some records and some record keepers. And she was done.

Of course, thanks to her excellent camera planting, she did get to see every expression on Sherlock's face as he saw her body for the first time. It was as she'd expected, clinical. Neutral. But what else would a gay man do when looking at a woman's dead body? Any other reaction would have been problematic.

She especially liked the little tart who acted all horrified that Sherlock had known the body by proportions rather than a facial recognition. She was a pretty thing, Irene thought, as her eyes traveled over the rather unrevealing lab coat. She'd have to do something about little miss Molly Hooper in good time—or rather she'd do Miss Molly Hooper in good time. Convince her Sherlock wasn't worth pursuing…that he was already taken…or at least make the pretty pathologist question her sexuality a little.

If only she could convince Sherlock that everything he wanted was right in front of him. How someone as confident seeming as Sherlock Holmes hadn't already declared his feelings to John Watson was beyond her. But she supposed everyone had their insecurities every now and then.

The thought of that sent her thinking of Kate…and she quickly tried to disconnect her thoughts from the beautiful woman. She couldn't afford to be distracted right now. She had to focus on starting a new life. Hiding from Moriarty and the CIA and all the rest of them.

She sighed and shut off the feed. Watching the two for a bit was fun, but she needed to move to a more secure location. Besides, it would be more interesting in an hour when Sherlock returned home…considering Watson would likely be thoroughly pissed by that time based on his drinking rate.

She'd check on them in due time. But for the moment her desire to live outweighed her desire for sexual stimulus. There would be time for the lesser priorities later.

* * *

His eyes traced the London streets, trying to focus on the details speeding by instead of the thoughts racing through his mind. He kept replaying the kiss, John's soft lips on his, the man's body practically pressed up against him. So beautiful and strong and fragile all at once. John…

He pushed those memories aside in favor of considering the current case. Irene Adler, dead. It was odd really. He'd come to admire her. She wasn't attractive to him in the slightest in terms of her beauty or her sexual allure, but her intelligence and cunning were incredible. It was rare for him to find someone so…complex to work with. And besides…she'd been the one to awaken some of his interest in John. Or perhaps to make him realize it. But his sentimentality was getting the better of him, and Sherlock soon schooled himself again.

John wasn't interested. He had been fussing over Jeanette all evening. His fourth girlfriend in half a year. That was what John wanted. Some pretty woman. Someone to one day marry and have a semi-normal relationship with…have children and a little house and a loving family… John would never want him.

Perhaps he'd acted a bit rashly at the party, but he'd been so angry at the time. So upset that he had to sit by and watch John cuddle Jeanette and go have sex with her that evening. And then Molly Hooper had practically thrown herself at him, and that had been the last straw. He couldn't take it. Not knowing that John was attached to someone else and a woman he had no interest in other than friendship was eager to be with him in more of a romantic respect.

His eyes closed, and he did his best to drift into his mind palace, look at something more pleasant than his memories of John. Something distracting.

Thankfully by the time he opened his eyes they were pulling up to St. Bart's. He paid the cabby and stepped out, striding towards the building with obvious purpose.

Mycroft met him in the entryway and walked with him up to the morgue.

"The only one that fit the description. Had her brought here – your home from home," Mycroft said as they stepped in.

Sherlock eyed the form beneath the sheet and then noticed who was with the body. Molly shifted a bit as he looked her over. She'd left her hair and makeup, but had changed into a jumper and slacks. More her normal self. Still, she was a painful reminder of the awful party.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly," Sherlock said.

"Oh that's okay, everyone else was busy with…Christmas."

Sherlock sighed. It made them three of a kind. None of them caring all that much about Christmas. Not like John about to go spend the night with his new girlfriend, or Lestrade going to try to reconcile things with his wife or Mrs. Hudson who was at least going to call her sister or maybe going to have a bite to eat with Mrs. Turner. No, he and Molly, and Mycroft were all loners. All left to fend for themselves in the merriness of the holidays.

"The face is a bit…sort of…bashed up…so it might be difficult."

Sherlock nodded and watched as Molly pulled down the sheet.

She hadn't been exaggerating. Quite a lot of damage. He would get no amount of recognition from that. No, better to rely on DNA testing…or…

"Show me the rest," he said.

It was true; she had made a point of showing off her proportions. If the body matched those it would be a good indication. With the dark hair and the clue of the phone being sent to him. His little Christmas gift. Though he much preferred to think of the kiss as his true gift…

Molly did as she was told, pulling back the sheet so he could peer down at the smooth pale skin. He was unsurprised to see 32, 24, and 34 in the hourglass figure presented to him. He nodded.

"That's her."

He walked to the door. His heart had sunk for some reason. Perhaps he'd grown used to Irene's games…used them as excuses to be closer to John…to kiss him. And besides, the puzzles she had presented had certainly been intriguing.

Mycroft appeared in the hallway and offered a cigarette. Alarms went off in Sherlock's head, but he kept his expression neutral and accepted. This was abnormal behavior for his brother, and he knew it. Something odd was happening, so he'd play to it and see what happened after.

"Smoking indoors…isn't there one of those…one of those law things?" he said as Mycroft lit the small roll for him.

"We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do," Mycroft said, eyeing him carefully.

_He expects something from me_, Sherlock thought. _But what? _

"How did you know she was dead?" Mycroft asked.

"She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up," Sherlock said. He enjoyed puffing the various chemicals into his body, allowing the smoke to relax him. He could use one after tonight. Regardless of Mycroft's intentions he was going to enjoy the rare opportunity to have a cigarette, even more so if it played against whatever Mycroft was trying to prove.

_He's taking time to talk to you. Not about a case. This is like old times_, Sherlock thought. _Clearly, he's concerned…perhaps he believes…_

No it was unthinkable. Sherlock barely restrained an eye roll at the thought. Dear god, did Mycroft think he'd developed some kind of feelings for Irene Adler? Well, perhaps the man was right. She was different. But whatever feelings there were simply remained ones of fascination and perhaps a touch of admiration. But when he thought of Irene nothing in his body remotely stirred. He reacted as one normally would to any normal person. It wasn't like John…

Just his name had Sherlock's heart beating a little faster. Just the thought of his face made Sherlock's breath halt in its path out of his lungs. When he let his imagination roam to the thought of John unclothed…his cock responded just as most men's would to sexual stimuli. But Irene Adler…nothing. She inspired a touch of a smile. Maybe an imagined nod in her direction. A tip of a hat so to speak. But nothing more.

"And where is this item now?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock ignored him and turned his attention to the doorway, where he suddenly noticed movement. A family stood there while a doctor delivered what had to be bad news. They crowded together in a huddling mass, shaking with what had to be sobs. Sherlock's first instinct was to react with disgust, but after a moment, he realized he was feeling some level of sympathy.

"Look at them, they all care so much," he whispered.

_Look at you_, he thought. _Sitting here smoking over John Watson_. _Who cares now?_

"Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" Sherlock asked. Anything to make his brother not suspect what he was thinking. He couldn't let his brother know he'd actually come to care. No. Mycroft would berate him to no end. Sentiment was a defect. He knew that better than anyone.

"All lives end…all hearts are broken," Mycroft said calmly. "Caring is not an advantage…Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed. Better to just leave it there. The longer they stayed together, the more likely it was that Mycroft might deduce what was bothering him.

"This is low tar," he muttered.

"Yes well, you barely knew her," Mycroft said, confirming his suspicion it was about Irene Adler. Foolish Mycroft, always assuming he was the smart one.

Sherlock started walking, heading towards the door. He didn't look back. Let Mycroft think what he wanted.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft," he said.

"And a happy New Year," his brother said back.

The door closed behind him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Good, escaped from that little trap. Mycroft wouldn't know, he'd think it something to do with Irene Adler. And Sherlock could return to his pining for John in peace.

When he returned to Baker street he could tell the moment he walked into the flat that something was wrong.

John was sitting in his chair with a book and a glass of alcohol. His face was flushed and his eyes slightly red. In a moment Sherlock could tell he'd had far too much to drink. It happened every so often with John. Probably some alcoholism in the family. As a drug user Sherlock couldn't exactly scold John on the bad habit though.

He glanced around calculating what had been moved. Something was off. Things had been put back into place clumsily, as though it had been done in a great hurry.

And then he looked at John again and realized that Jeanette was missing…and he knew they'd had plans. Odd. He frowned.

Well, the changes to the room were obvious. Drugs sweep. Mrs. Hudson had done some of it, because she always dusted off whatever she was searching too. Nervous habit of hers. John's movements, however, more clumsy. So both of them had been looking. Why?

Of course the only thing that made sense for that was Mycroft. Damn him and his meddling. It was probably the reason John had stayed in then too. And he was probably drinking to make up for Jeanette not being with him.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index," he muttered as he went back to his bedroom.

He slammed the door for good measure, even though he was angrier with Mycroft, and Irene Adler, and himself than either John or Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock allowed himself to collapse on the bed, sighing as his head made contact with the pillow. He just needed to rest for a moment.

After a few minutes he sat up and took the coat and scarf off, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. And then his shoes, kicking them off equally violently.

He laid there and stared at the orange strip of light coming in beneath his door, signs John was still out in the sitting room reading. Why couldn't John just go to bed? He didn't need to be watched like a child. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

For once in his life, Sherlock actually wanted to sleep. Sleep would be an escape. A place he could forget and move on and try to pretend all of Christmas hadn't happened. Perhaps in his dreams he could kiss John again.

Somehow he managed to drift off. It only felt like a few minutes before he was jerked back awake. He blinked a few times, trying to concentrate on what had woken him up. And then he saw it…the door was open.

A shadow was in the doorway. And then it was approaching stumbling closer. Sherlock tried to sit up more, only to have someone push him back, strong hands gripping his shirt and keeping his back to the mattress.

"What…" Sherlock gasped, only to make out those familiar facial features in the low light of the hall. "John? What's wrong?"

"Jus' thinkin' I shou' kiss you," John slurred. "Keep thinkin' 'bout tha' kiss."

Sherlock frowned and tried to protest, only to have John lean down and kiss him again.

The kiss felt different than the others before. More sloppy and raw and passionate. John's mouth opened a fraction and his tongue came into play. Sherlock felt heat building at the mere thought of where this might lead…but at the same time the tang of alcohol in the kiss was distracting.

He allowed the kiss to continue just a second longer, relaxing slightly against John before reaching up and putting his hands on John's chest. He was tempted to let them linger, to reach down and pull on the hem of the jumper and raise it over John's head. But at the same time this wasn't right. This wasn't how he'd imagined it.

He pushed firmly, and John pulled back a few centimeters, lips disconnecting from Sherlock's. He was panting as he sat back a little, staring down at Sherlock. Those familiar blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

"John," Sherlock whispered. "While this is…pleasant…I'm convinced you'll regret your actions come morning given how intoxicated you appear to be."

John grunted and shook his head.

"No, Sheloh, no. Want to keep kissin'." He leaned in lips pursed slightly.

"Please John, I…I can't do this," Sherlock begged. "You…you're so wonderful and I…not while you're drunk. It wouldn't be real…And…you have a girlfriend"

"Jeane—mmm broke it off. And yer so goooood at kissin'. Liked it earlier. If't weren't for tha' bitch…wasser name? Mmm…the woman."

"John," Sherlock murmured even as he tried to understand John's slurred words. He'd broken things off with Jeanette? But why? "It's all right. Let's just get you back to bed, shall we?"

"No!" John protested. "Want yah…mmm…so sexy."

If John had said that in any other context Sherlock might have broken into a grin and kissed him on the spot. But here, it was simply the wrong place and the wrong time.

"John, timing," Sherlock muttered, thinking of all the lectures he'd been given on the subject himself. He might not know much, but he was aware this was wrong.

"No," John mumbled and leaned back in to plant a few more fleeting kisses on Sherlock's mouth and jaw and even his nose. "Sex. Now."

One of his hands moved from Sherlock's chest down to his trousers.

"God John!" Sherlock snapped. "You're intoxicated. You're not thinking clearly. You're…"

But that hand had found the button of his trousers and was fumbling with it. Sherlock paused as John managed to undo it, reaching a hand in to attempt to pull at the waistband of his pants. God, John's hand was so close…it was…

His mouth fell open. If touching himself was pleasant, John's hand on him was infinitesimally better. A bit clumsy due to how drunk he was, but still quite firm and insistent as he moved to fondle Sherlock. John's lips claimed his again in a more heated kiss. Even though he wanted to protest, something in him gave under the pressure. Was this why so many people joked that men didn't think with their brains but with their—

God that felt heavenly! He relaxed into the sensations, especially as John's mouth opened again and tongue came into play. Much more pleasant with the added oral stimulation, Sherlock decided.

John grunted and suddenly jolted forward a little. Sherlock was instantly aware of the hardness rubbing against his leg. Oh that was good. He moved his leg a little to adjust better to John's need. The other man let out a moan, and Sherlock smiled. Apparently he wasn't altogether terrible at this.

"Mmm, want you so much," John mumbled against his lips.

"You have me," Sherlock whispered back, even as his eyes screwed shut from the pleasure of it all. John's hand was moving faster even as his hips canted forward with more force. "I'm yours, John. Always…I…I think I might…love you."

John gave something of a grin, even if his eyes appeared a bit glazed even in the moonlight. "My Sherlock."

There was a fraction of a second where Sherlock pondered if this was perhaps the dream he'd been wanting. Maybe he was dreaming all of this. Perhaps this was merely another nocturnal emission and he'd awaken to find himself sticky and Johnless…

"Sherlock," John growled and smashed their lips together.

The heat in his belly had peaked. He felt a wave of pleasure wash over him as his body entered the throes of orgasm. Sherlock groaned and released into John's hand. He felt John's body speed up a bit and then he was moaning and going slack and Sherlock was sure he must have come in his pants.

"John," he whispered. "I…I love you," he whispered.

"Mmm," the other man said, slumping against Sherlock's chest. "Nice."

They were still for a long moment, simply catching their breaths, enjoying the body heat associated with lying so close, feeling especially cozy with the snow falling outside the window. Sherlock pondered what it would be like to have this always…John at his side…John curled up with him in bed…John bringing him pleasure and him reciprocating…

But before he could become stuck on the semantics, he realized he had to do something about John.

"Do you want to go back to your own bed?" Sherlock asked. "I can…help you."

He was hoping John would say no. Nothing sounded better than allowing John to take the other side of his bed and stay there the rest of the night…stay there every night thereafter if he wanted.

Instead John grunted. "Mmm yes. Or…sofa."

Sherlock nodded. Smarter than trying to navigate stairs. He sat up some, doing his best to push most of John's body weight off of himself. He managed to get John to stand up, though he was swaying on his feet, eyes fluttering open and closed.

Sherlock grimaced at the mess on his torso and lower body. He'd have to clean up later, but for now he wanted to get John settled. He wrapped an arm around the shorter man's torso and walked him to the door and then out into the sitting room, helping him onto the sofa. John already looked ready to fall asleep. Sherlock watched him for a moment. Was he going to pass out? Maybe he should stay with him, make sure he was all right?

He put a cushion beneath John's head and went to scout out a blanket and a wet cloth. By the time he came back John was gently snoring away. Sherlock did his best to clean up what he could, but John was still probably going to have a few nasty surprises when he woke up. He pulled the blanket up over his friend and leaned down to kiss his temple.

"Sleep well, John. I'll be here in case you need anything. I'll stay with you until you wake."

There was only a loud snore in reply, but it was enough for Sherlock, knowing John was sleeping and safe…and potentially returned his feelings. They would have to have a good talk.

He went to sit at his chair and folded his hands. There was so much to think about. So many factors to consider in all of this. Perhaps he'd done the wrong thing, but in the heat of the moment it had been a bit hard to think rationally…the one time he could ever really say that. But what had happened was in the past and could not be changed now. All he could do was consider his future possibilities and make his decisions from there.

* * *

She was furious when she checked the feed and found that she'd missed their little display. God, how could they act without her prompting?

Well, in many ways it was a good sign that they'd become so independent. But still…she'd wanted them to finally have their first little fumble at a time where she could actually observe and potentially interfere.

She sighed and watched the video again, admiring the way Watson had pinned Sherlock to the bed. So sexy. She'd thought Watson might come out on top, and in this case that did appear to be correct. But then again, in different circumstances it was possible that Sherlock might try to push his own dominance. It would be interesting to see.

Her fingers trailed down to push her dress hem up, moving to toy with herself effortlessly. If only Kate was with her. It would be even more pleasant. Attentions from her lover always seemed so much more satisfying than those from herself. It had been a while since she'd really had to rely on her own means to achieve release.

Irene sighed and let her head fall back. She kept picturing Holmes and Watson, but in the process she couldn't deny adding Kate to the fantasy too. She'd be back with her darling one day. When all this nonsense was over.

* * *

**Thank you to DevilChild101, MycroftTheGingerCat, Katelyn0Marie and ChuYumeAkirameru for reviewing!**

**Please review if you're enjoying this! Positive feedback makes it so much easier to write!**


	11. Chapter 11

** A/N: This will all work out in the end. But this upcoming chapter might be a bit rough. You've been warned.**

* * *

She stared at the screen, brow furrowed trying to determine how things had gone from so right to so horribly wrong. Men were idiots. That was the best solution she could come up with. Probably the main reason she preferred women actually.

Of course her thoughts were halted when her new burner cell began to ring. She reached for it and picked it up. She didn't recognize the number and decided to just let it go to voicemail. Besides, no one should have her number?

After a minute that felt more like an hour, Irene lifted the phone up and listened to the message that had been left.

"Hello Irene, darling," Moriarty purred. "Did you miss me?"

Her breath caught in her throat as he heart started to speed up. No, he couldn't have found her. She considered just hanging up, but it was obvious he knew the truth and trying to hide would do nothing.

"Of course," she managed, doing her best to put a smile on in spite of her fear.

"Well then, why don't you just explain why there's a dead body as my Christmas present instead of that information I wanted. Daddy's getting a little teensy bit angry," he singsonged.

"I had to avoid some killers out to get me," Irene said. "I couldn't work with them tailing me. With them gone I can focus on it. I'll get you your information."

"Deal's changed since you decided to play hide and seek with me. I want your whole phone."

Irene froze. "That's not…" she cleared her throat. "I promised you the information I received. I will get it I just need more time."

"I'll translate it myself. You've taken enough time," Moriarty said. "Plans, now. Or else I will go after that redhead like I said I would."

Irene bit her lip. "Fine, I'll get it for you. Just give me a few days."

"Good girl. I'll be waiting."

She nodded, closing her eyes and pressing the end call button.

So, it was going to be like this. Giving Moriarty everything he wanted or watching Kate die. There was no middle ground.

Her eyes opened, and she looked down at the figures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Such a pity things couldn't have worked out differently. Now, finding the right strategy would be difficult. But if she played her cards right…perhaps she'd make things work after all.

She grabbed her phone and dialed in a number. She counted the rings until a sweet familiar voice answered.

"Veronica, darling, I'm afraid I'll be needing your help," Irene purred. "Be a dear and go pick up a guest of mine. Head over to Baker street and I'll explain to you on the way."

* * *

The echo of violin music in the flat was becoming a daily experience John was steadily growing more and more used to. Sure, Sherlock had played the violin from time to time. But never like this. Never for hours on end, long melodies of sad music drifting through Baker Street.

John rubbed his face as he listened to the umpteenth piece in a minor key. How much longer could this go on? He still wasn't even sure _why_ this was going on. But the only thing he could attribute it to was the death of Irene Adler.

He tried again to think back to Christmas Eve. Everything was fuzzy. He had some vague recollections of the party, and Sherlock being an arse especially to Molly. He knew Irene Adler had been found dead, and he'd broken up with Jeanette due to his need to stay with Sherlock due to it being a danger night.

But after that…

He'd woken up on the couch with a massive hangover. His head was pounding, he could barely sit up. But when he had managed to finally push himself up a bit he'd discovered some amount of stickiness in his pants…like he'd tried to clean himself up and had failed. John had vague recollections about some dream with Sherlock again…pushing him down onto the bed and having his way with him. Mmm…

Sherlock had been at his chair when John woke, watching him carefully. John had half expected some snarky remark or something rude about his drinking. But instead Sherlock was silent.

Of course, once John had properly cleaned himself up and taken something to help with the headache, he'd gone back out and tried to have a word with Sherlock. But it hadn't gone so well.

He'd mentioned not remembering much. Asking if Sherlock was all right and if he needed anything. Sherlock had stared at him for a few minutes, asked a couple of clarifying questions, and then gone silent. Without another word he left the flat for an entire day. When he came back John had a horrible suspicion he'd been using again, but there wasn't much John could do about that. And after that he'd simply disappeared into some kind of odd brooding phase that has lasted for far longer than John would have originally guessed it would.

It got to be New Year's, and John was growing steadily more fed up. As though the months of dealing with Sherlock being insufferable hadn't been enough, now he had to put up with the reality that the death of Irene Adler had devastated Sherlock. That no matter how much he wanted the detective, he'd never be enough. If only his dreams could be real…

John grabbed for his coat, eager to get out for the day. Go somewhere else. Leave the sound of wailing violin in 221 B where it clearly belonged and pretend for a while that Sherlock Holmes did not exist.

He eyed Sherlock's form by the window, trying his best to be nonchalant about it, even as he felt a spike of something warm but unmistakably melancholy as he regarded his best friend. Love, and sorrow, and arousal, and anger, and confusion all mixed into one.

Mrs. Hudson scooped up Sherlock's untouched plate, commenting on the music. John sighed.

"Composing?" he asked, doing his best to smile even though he didn't feel the slightest bit happy at the moment. How could he with Sherlock acting the way he was?

"It helps me think," Sherlock muttered.

He turned back to continue playing. John eyed his slim form in that familiar blue dressing robe. Once again he conjured up images of those fantasies. Sherlock on his back with John pulling that robe away and—

God he needed to stop thinking like that. But it was so hard. Imagining Sherlock naked…that pale sculpted chest and those gorgeous long legs and his—

"Still stuck at one-thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," Sherlock said.

He pulled himself out his thoughts in a moment to see what Sherlock was talking about. He felt a little bit of hope as he saw Sherlock studying his blog. Well then, perhaps he didn't think it was as entirely stupid as he pretended.

John peered at the counter and did see Sherlock appeared to be correct.

"Yeah, it's faulty, can't seem to fix it," he said.

Maybe that would get Sherlock. Sherlock liked solving problems. John felt a bit of hope as he glanced at the detective and then back at the blog.

Instead Sherlock replied, "Faulty or you've been hacked," and pulled out a phone to type something in.

There was a loud buzzing noise. Sherlock looked perplexed and then sighed and turned back to pick up his violin again.

"Just faulty," he muttered.

The swell of music began again. The same tune that seemed to speak of heartache and love lost. John tensed.

"Right, I'm going out for a bit," he muttered. God only knew how much he needed some air.

If Sherlock heard he didn't respond. Simply continued to play his music. John wondered for a moment what would happen if he walked over and smashed the bloody violin to pieces. He thought for a moment how wonderful it would be to feel the wood crack beneath his fingers. And then he'd turn to Sherlock and say "You don't need her, I'm all you need" and kiss him on the lips and have his bloody way with him…

God, he needed to hook up again. It had been far too long since he'd had a proper shag. What with Jeanette running off before they could it had probably been almost a month now. He almost groaned aloud at the thought.

He stopped to talk to Mrs. Hudson on the way out.

"Listen, has he ever had any kind of girlfriend…" he paused hardly daring to suggest it, "boyfriend… relationship ever?"

He wondered for a moment if Mrs. Hudson might again try to mention their relationship as though they were actually dating. Her mistake seemed to be a continuing one after all.

Instead she sighed and shook her head.

"I don't know."

"How can _we_ not know?" John muttered, glancing back towards Sherlock's lightly swaying form.

"He's Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said. "How will we ever know what's going on in that funny head?"

John had to agree with that, but he decided it was better not to say anything. If Sherlock heard them after all he'd probably pitch a fit. Or just decide to ignore them even worse than he already was.

He headed down the stairs, relaxing only slightly when the door closed behind him, and he could finally get the sound of violin out of his ears. Until he realized John was playing loud enough he could hear it even through the bloody window. Ridiculous instrument. Why would anyone invent such a horrid thing?

He was just about to turn and go find a cab when a woman spoke.

"John," she said.

He turned to stare at a woman in an elegant black dress. Her long silky hair and attractive features caught his attention almost immediately. Her entire carriage seemed to suggest sex. She smiled and he almost groaned. God why didn't he wank before he left the place?

"Any plans for New Year tonight?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Er…nothing fixed. Nothing I couldn't…_heartlessly_ abandon," he said, letting his eyes roam over her figure. He couldn't remember where he'd seen her before. He must have though since she knew his name. And she seemed to want him, so why not?

"You have any ideas?" he asked, studying her. God there were hundreds running through his head, but he was hoping she might just give him a few more of her own.

Instead she smiled and said, "One," before nodding to a car pulling up in front of the flat.

John groaned. It was all suddenly very apparent. Mycroft. Probably trying to check up on Sherlock without letting his brother onto the fact that he was concerned. John had never hated the Holmes brothers and their screwed up relationship more than in that moment.

"You know Mycroft could just phone me," he grumbled under his breath. "If he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex."

Nonetheless, he had agreed to help Mycroft. Why he wasn't sure, but for now he'd stick with his original agreement. He was a man of his word. And besides, for some ridiculous reason he was set on trying to help Sherlock Holmes. And if trying to figure out how to make him better with the help of Mycroft worked, then so be it.

The drive seemed endless. He had to sit next to the pretty woman the entire way and think about how much he'd love to have sex with her as a substitute for Sherlock.

He asked her a few questions, but like Anthea she seemed pretty tight lipped. Managed to wrestle out her name (Veronica) and that she was in fact already in a relationship. Well, wasn't that just marvelous. Otherwise most of the drive was silent.

They pulled up at a power station outside of London. John stepped out of the car, frowning as he examined his surroundings.

"Couldn't we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere." John sighed, wishing in some ways he would. It might be proof the man wasn't stuck as deep in his feelings as he seemed to be at the moment.

Veronica just smiled and led him deeper into the bowels of the building. John followed after her, trying not to stare at her arse. It had nothing on Sherlock's but still. The moment he arrived back home he was going to find one of his old favorite videos, wank, and then see if he couldn't set up another date on that dating website.

She pointed him on into another room and disappeared back towards the car. He continued on, just deciding to speak the frustrating thoughts to the empty air while he awaited Mycroft's dramatic entrance. Such a drama queen.

"He's writing sad music," John said, voice carrying and echoing in the large room. "Doesn't eat, barely talks—only to correct the television."

He sighed and said the unthinkable. "I'd say he's heartbroken…" perhaps he was. Perhaps that truly was the case. Saying it somehow made it more real. "But, er, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway—"

He broke off and stared towards the figure that had suddenly appeared in the room. He was expecting Mycroft's tall well-dressed form. But instead it was Irene Adler, much better clothed than the last time he'd seen her but nonetheless still appearing quite sensual and deadly.

"Hello, Doctor Watson," she said.

Every emotion possible flitted through him simultaneously. Anger and confusion and sorrow and joy. Sherlock had been heartbroken for nothing. Sherlock had been wrongly hurt. Sherlock would be with Irene Adler and not John. Sherlock would be elated to know that Irene was alive…and that he no longer needed to mourn.

Regardless all of those didn't suit John's desires. He wanted Sherlock for himself.. But at the same time he knew in a moment that some things came at a price. And to buy Sherlock's happiness he would sacrifice his own.

"Tell him you're alive," he snapped.

Irene eyed him carefully. "He'd come after me."

"I'll come after you if you don't," John growled, fists curling. He would. He'd chase her to the ends of the earth to have Sherlock's happiness back. Just to see one of his quirky siles or catch a glimpse of joy glittering in his attractive eyes.

"Mmm, I believe you," Irene said with a smirk. The way she eyed him made him want to squirm some, like she was able to somehow see through all of his clothes. He did feel exposed, she was right.

_Bitch_, John thought, before saying, "You were dead on a slab. Definitely you."

All this conversation was doing was making Irene feel more confident in herself, John could see that. With every passing moment letting him know she knew exactly what the record keeper _liked _he felt more and more uncomfortable.

"Then how come _I _can see you and I don't even want to," John growled. _Sherlock's the one who wants to see you. Sherlock's the one who's heartbroken._

"I made a mistake. I need my phone back," Irene said. "I need your help."

"No," John said.

"It's for his own safety," Irene said, something glinting in her eye as she spoke.

"So's this," John said.

"I can't," she said.

"Fine, then I'll tell him and I still won't help you." He turned to go, wondering how he'd even start that conversation. _Sherlock, mate, your lady lover is still alive so stop being sad. I might not be able to have you, but I want you happy so there you go._ But part of him so desperately wanted to not tell Sherlock. Let him mourn and move on and maybe he'd have a shot.

"What do I say?" Irene called from behind him.

"What do you _normally _say!" John yelled, spinning around. Of all the obnoxious people in the world Irene seemed to drive him up the wall more than anyone else. He glared at her as she stood holding a phone and eyeing John curiously.

"You've texted him a lot," John added. "And other than trying to manipulate him into touching me for some reason, I don't know what all the other texts were about."

"Just the usual stuff," Irene said.

"There's no usual in this case," John muttered.

She smirked. "Good morning. I like your funny hat. I'm sad tonight let's have dinner. You look sexy on Crimewatch. Let's have dinner. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner." She paused and looked up with a smirk. And then she continued. "John likes your funny hat. He says so on his blog. John writes such lovely things about you. Did you have dinner with John tonight? What's John wearing today. Dinner at Angelo's? Send John my love."

She paused and glance up again, head tilted slightly as she regarded him. John's mouth kept opening and closing.

"You…flirted…with Sherlock Holmes? And all that about me…were you…making him jealous?"

"Flirted at him," Irene Adler said. "He never replies. And as to you…thought he might open up about his favorite blogger. I was mistaken."

"No Sherlock always replies," John said, mind reeling. "He's Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word."

Irene smirked. "Maybe with you. Does that make me special?"

"Maybe," John said, unwilling to tell her outright that she clearly was. What else explained Sherlock's strange behavior the last few months.

"Are you jealous?" she asked.

John's jaw clenched. "We're not a couple."

"No," Irene agreed. "Not at the moment. But I sense you'd like to be one."

"For the record, if anyone cares, I'm not _gay_!" John snarled.

"Well I am," Irene said. "Look at both of us. Sexuality isn't as simple as little boxes on a survey. It's a spectrum. It's fluid. And just because you might not identify as gay, or haven't had much success with men doesn't mean you're not interested. After all, I'm a lesbian and I can't deny your Sherlock is undeniably sexy."

John tried to think of something to say to that but couldn't think of a single reply. Nothing was right. She'd only turn his words on their head. Besides, she was right.

"If you admit you love him I'll tell him I'm alive," Irene said.

John's jaw clenched. "I…I'm not…I…"

"Tell me and I'll text him. I'm sure you don't want to deal with the messiness of telling him yourself," Irene said.

He sighed, but she had a point. It would be awkward and messy and uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was to have to tell Sherlock that ugly piece of news he desperately wanted not to be true.

"Fine," he said after a moment. "Fine…I love Sherlock Holmes. Was that what you wanted?"

"Yes," she said, lifting up the phone and typing something in. "There, I've texted him. I'm alive, let's have dinner."

She stared at him for a long moment while John tried to decide what to say. He couldn't think of any words. He'd said the most important ones. If Irene cared she didn't give any sign of that. She simply wanted to rub her hold on Sherlock in his face.

He was about to say he was going to leave if she had nothing else to say, when suddenly a female sigh broke out behind them.

John turned and stared just in time to see a dark figure disappearing off in the opposite direction. John felt like his heart might stop beating. Sherlock was there. Sherlock had heard him. God, he could never take those words back. They were out there.

He attempted to walk back towards his friend. Maybe he could do some damage control. But Irene held out a hand and stared at him, and even though she didn't speak he somehow got the message. He sighed and waited a moment. Maybe she was right, maybe chasing Sherlock wasn't the best option anyways.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Irene murmured.

"Remember what?" he asked.

She sighed and shook her head. "You shouldn't dismiss it all so easily, you know. Kate was right, you're just like her. So blind to everything. But I'll give you a secret to a man like Sherlock Holmes. He might play confident, but he's not nearly as self-secure as he pretends to be. If you give it some time you'll figure him out."

"What the hell are you even saying?" John asked.

"I'm saying that you need to look closer," she said. "You see but you do not observe."

He scowled not thrilled at having Sherlock's words quoted back to him like gospel.

"I don't know what you want, but I can promise I'm not going to help you. I have no reason to help you," he said.

"I'd tell you myself, but I doubt you'd listen," Irene said with a smirk. "And I'll figure something out without your help. It's you who needs help if anyone."

"You leave him alone," John snapped. "You're no good for him."

Irene smiled and her eyes glittered. "Is that a threat, Dr. Watson?"

"Yes," John said. "If he wants you that's fine. But you stop playing your mind games."

"And if he does want me," Irene said. "What does that leave for you? You'll go back to a girlfriend or boyfriend every month?"

John froze and stared at her. "What?"

"Oh you know, a new girl to date, or a man you pick up in a bar," Irene said, lashes fluttering in faux-innocent manner.

"I don't know how the hell you know about that, but you'd better just stop talking now before I do something I'll regret," John growled.

"No need, Dr. Watson. We're through here. I can see nothing I say will make any difference. I'll leave you to go tend to your detective."

He shook his head and stormed past her, through with the arguing. He had nothing more to say to Miss Irene Bloody Adler with all her sensual seduction and continual teasing. How Sherlock could fall for a woman like her was beyond him.

"Veronica will take you back," Irene said. "I'm sorry we couldn't work things out. Such a pity. Regardless, it's been a pleasure. Happy New Year, Doctor Watson."

She stalked off leaving him to shake his head and grumble that he didn't need a bloody ride like a child. But at the same time he wasn't exactly near a good place to hail a cab. So another awkward ride with Veronica it was. He cursed his rotten luck as he strode off towards the car, trying to already plan out what the hell he should say to Sherlock when he finally had the chance.

* * *

Irene sighed as she watched John go. Well, most of that had gone pretty poorly. The only advantage was that she had in fact achieved some results in getting John to admit his feelings. And also she'd managed to get him to do so unknowingly in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. She'd heard footsteps. She'd suspected. And besides, her feed had showed her Sherlock had left shortly after John, probably after seeing him get into the car. How he'd known the exact location she couldn't be sure.

She'd have to find another way to get the phone. Especially now that her cover was more than likely blown. She didn't expect John to be quiet about it unless Sherlock persuaded him to do so. But regardless of what John thought, Irene was aware Sherlock harbored no feelings for her. It wasn't her name he cried out during climax. It wasn't her he said he loved…

There was a glance towards her phone, and she knew realistically that she should tell Kate. But there was still danger. If all had gone as planned Kate was off in the States now as she'd promised to do if anything happened to Irene. And telling her might simply disrupt everything she'd set in place.

She stood a bit straighter and glanced at her phone one last time before tucking it away. It did no good to linger on these things. She'd get back what she needed, appease Moriarty, and then there would be time to go and try to make things up to her beautiful lover. But for now if she couldn't have her own beautiful romance, she'd settle for making sure her two idiots got theirs.

* * *

**A/N: So yes…a little more dragging it out I'm sorry. We'll get there eventually. There is a happy ending in sight, I promise!**

**I'm unfortunately going to be working like twelve hour shifts next week during our county fair, so I'm unlikely to be updating for a bit. I will do my best to get some good updates up as soon as all that nonsense is over. **

**Thanks for all the follows and favorites etc. and thank you especially to austria332, DevilChild101, and aliciaemilyluca for reviews! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry guys, was working the fair for 10 days doing 12-14 hour shifts everyday. And now I'm back!**

* * *

Irene didn't know how she stood in the shadows. She was unsure even how to proceed. Nothing seemed to be going her way lately. She'd achieved the two of them having some level of sex, even wrestled a confession out of John Watson, and yet the two still seemed set on not being together. Playing cupid apparently wasn't so easy as she'd initially thought.

All she knew now was that it was time to run again. She had little doubt her cover was blown. And as much as she wanted to keep playing matchmaker, dying wouldn't serve her purpose…or at least not really dying.

She pulled out her phone and hesitated over Kate's name. There was still a chance…but at the same time…

After some consideration she lowered the phone, tucking it away again. No. Not now. She had to not let sentiment get the better of her. Her heart couldn't direct what her brain needed to.

Irene sighed and stalked off to the door. She paused only a moment, before heading out to face the reality that awaited her.

* * *

It felt as though he was floating. Sherlock for once felt like he couldn't connect with his brain. He kept trying to actually process, but all he could do was let those words repeat over and over.

"I love Sherlock Holmes."

Four words. None of which had any real significance separated. But together in that exact order… perfect.

The ride back to 221 B passed in a blur. He stared out the window and thought of John. Pictured those lips forming those words, and those eyes lighting with passion. Could it really be true? Was he dreaming perhaps?

Stepping out of the cab, he had to consider the real possibilities here. John's tone had been one of concern. He'd been doing his best to solve the dilemma with Irene Adler himself. Had that been enough to motivate him to lie?

However, Sherlock's brief consideration of the facts was interrupted as he noticed something alarming. His eyes caught on the door where there were obvious signs someone had forced it open. A scowl crossed his face as he pushed the door open, scanning for other signs and quickly finding ones that alarmed him.

Mrs. Hudson had evidently been forced up the stairs.

He stood still, staring up at the landing where he knew three men were waiting for him. They'd picked the wrong day. Of course, he could deal with them most any time he chose, but today of all days they were not going to have any mercy.

After a moment he started up, taking the stairs gradually as he continued to gather the data he needed. In other circumstances he might have rushed, but he didn't trust his mind under such circumstances. Not when he was still rejoicing over the possibility of John loving him.

He opened the door to find the Americans holding Mrs. Hudson. He eyed the gun to her head, and decided to continue to react slowly, for fear any quick movements might set them off. He couldn't allow Mrs. Hudson to be harmed. He'd never forgive himself.

There was a snap of bitterness in his voice as he addressed her. Tried to tell her not to cry. But he left any emotion out of it. Did his best to conceal the worry building beneath the surface. He couldn't make it apparent to these men that he cared.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes."

He eyed the man. "Then why don't you ask for it."

His attention was still diverted to Mrs. Hudson, especially the realization that the men had hurt her in the process of interrogation. She wasn't only crying out of fear. God, he could hardly stand the thought of it. His blood was beginning to boil the longer he stood there.

As he calculated it became quite easy to figure out. All he needed was to get the leader alone. Getting rid of the cronies would provide him easy enough odds. And as with most men with guns, it was obvious the American was overconfident with his weapon.

Once they were alone it was easy. He summoned up his anger, his disgust over the fact that Mrs. Hudson had been harmed by such brutes. And with everything he had he sprayed the man in the eyes and then slammed his forehead into the bastard.

"Moron," he muttered, giving the disgusting man one last glance before going to examine Mrs. Hudson.

He knelt before her and ensured himself that she was relatively unharmed, mostly just shaken. Her sobs wracked him though. She could have been killed. His jaw clenched at the thought.

After feeling satisfied that Mrs. Hudson was all right, even if she did continue crying, he went over to haul the American up onto one of the chairs. He proceeded to find the duct tape and strap him to the chair.

It was just as he was ripping off a piece for the mouth that the man came to.

"You sneaky bastard," he muttered, cracking his eyes open. "Well, you do what you want, but let me tell you my men have orders to go after John Watson if anything happens to me."

Sherlock scowled and scanned the man's face. He shook his head.

"You're bluffing. You should know better," he muttered as he quickly slapped the last piece of tape over the man's mouth, effectively gagging him.

He stalked over to the other side of the room, picking up the gun and pointing it at his captive. A tremor shook his hand as he thought about John…about the threat just made to the man he loved. But he couldn't lose control. With that in mind he grabbed for his phone as well.

Lestrade was apparently busy. He waited on the line, wondering how long he should hold before just giving up and taking action himself. Not that he wasn't going to do _something_. The disgusting pig deserved to know that he wouldn't sit idle after seeing Mrs. Hudson injured, or his best friend threatened.

However, just as he was thinking of hanging up to take care of Mrs. Hudson the door opened and John strode in.

"What's going on?" he asked, glancing anxiously around the room.

"Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, my god. Are you all right?" John asked as he rushed over to see to her. Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, admiring the way the man fussed over their landlady. Something about John's concern made him all the more appealing. That was John…so _caring_. He made Sherlock feel…god…

Though he wanted to sit and admire John's virtues a little longer, he had to recognize it was necessary to have no witnesses if he wanted to extract a little revenge. His mind was still reeling but he'd come up with his decision.

"Downstairs," he said. "Take her downstairs and look after her."

John only hesitated a moment before pulling Mrs. Hudson up and leading her to the door. Their eyes met momentarily, and Sherlock swallowed, doing his best to retain some semblance of control when all he wanted was to move forward and pull John into a kiss.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" John asked, brow furrowing.

Sherlock wanted to murmur some kind of soft reassurance, but instead he kept his face neutral. "I expect so," he said. He did his best to keep the gun pointed and the phone up, even though he wished he had a free hand. Some means of touching John… "Now go."

He disappeared into the stairway, and Sherlock was left alone. He eyed the American with distaste.

"Hello? Sherlock?"

Finally, Lestrade had answered and Sherlock was unable to hold back a smile as he examined his prey.

"Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance."

"Oh my god, what have you done? Are you all right?" Lestrade demanded.

Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured."

He set the gun down.

"What's happened?" Lestrade said. "How's he injured?"

"Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung," Sherlock said clenching one hand into a fist.

"Cor, what'd you do to that man?"

"He fell out a window," Sherlock said before hanging up.

He watched the man stiffen, took a moment to enjoy the fact that he'd struck fear into him.

After just a moment to let the information sink in, he leaned forward and stared into his captive's eyes.

"You never touch Mrs. Hudson again," he hissed. "And don't you even _think_ about touching John Watson. If you do I'll know. And trust me when I say the next window will be a few more stories up."

It took a bit of effort, but with his mind still flashing to the injuries on Mrs. Hudson and the _threat _on John, it didn't take too much extra effort for him to find the strength to give the man several well placed blows. Enough to incapacitate him. Enough for him to wind up in a hospital and _remember_ and _know_ that Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to back down.

And when the man's head was lolling to the side, he finally pulled off the tape and dragged him to the window, and without a second thought, pushed him through, listening in satisfaction as the body made contact with some of the bins below.

With that done he moved away from the window and stood back to take another deep breath. Too much for one day, honestly. It was exciting, of course, but on a day where the word love had escaped John's mouth in relation to him…he needed time to recover.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the memory wash over him.

"I love Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes flashing, his gaze fixed on Irene Adler. The way his lips had curled as he'd spoken each word with such obvious purpose. Sherlock smiled at the thought, quickly saving the memory and tucking it away.

But of course, within a few minutes it became apparent he couldn't stay there acting like a besotted fool over John. No, he needed to move.

Sherlock headed down the stairs slowly. He glanced towards 221 A, but he decided it was better to leave John to tend Mrs. Hudson in peace. Besides, his heart was still racing and he wasn't sure he could approach his flatmate right now without giving in to his desire to show his affection…

So instead he headed out to the sidewalk, doing his best to appear concerned as he glanced over the American's comatose form. By his calculations it would only be a few more minutes, but there was nothing wrong with giving the appearance that he was worried and vigilant and had called an ambulance for the poor misguided burglar.

It took Lestrade only a few more minutes to arrive. Apparently he'd deemed himself the least annoying of his officers. Sherlock was inclined to agree. And of course an ambulance was there as well, paramedics rushing over to pick the American up and strap him to a gurney. Sherlock did his best to appear worried, even as a small smirk crept onto his face.

"And exactly how many times _did_ he fall out the window?" Lestrade said with a sigh. Sherlock didn't dare look at him, but he could see the familiar expression. Lestrade saw through him far too easily now adays.

"It's all a bit of a blur, inspector. I lost count," Sherlock muttered with a smile.

"Yeah," Lestrade said with a huff, shaking his head. "So you're all right? All of you? No one harmed other than him?"

"We're fine," Sherlock agreed.

Lestrade was still looking at him with a peculiar expression. "You seem more…yourself today."

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"Well…you were acting a bit… queer… on Christmas Eve."

Sherlock did his best not to snort at Lestrade's mistaken accuracy. He'd never realize how close he was to hitting the nail on the head.

"Oh, you know how the holidays get to me," Sherlock said. "All the cheer and festivities…bah humbug."

Lestrade shook his head. "Aw, you pulled through all right. You take care of yourself, you hear me Sherlock? I'm glad you're doing better but…just…I'm here for you if you ever need, right mate?"

"Hmm, wish a happy New Year to Mycroft for me," Sherlock muttered with an eye roll before stalking off towards his residence. He could picture Lestrade's shocked expression, but he didn't particularly care. John wouldn't have said anything, so it wasn't too hard of a deduction to make.

In 221 A, he watched as John fussed a little more of Mrs. Hudson. He listened calmly to the suggestion that she come stay upstairs with them, though he chastised John for thinking of sending her away. It was best she was where Sherlock could keep an eye on her. In case the Americans decided to make any more stupid decisions.

Sherlock waited patiently for Mrs. Hudson to ask for a few minutes alone. His eyes were on John as the other man nodded and promised to give her a bit. And he had a hard time resisting reaching for John's hand as they walked out into the hallway together.

"Sherlock," John murmured when they were alone at last. "About….today…"

He froze. Though he'd been anticipating needing to "discuss" things, the moment still surprised him. He faced John, stared into those familiar eyes and did his best to utter a relatively neutral response.

"Yes, John?"

"I…" John hesitated a moment, looked at the floor as one of his hands ran through his hair. "I just…wanted to make sure she told you…so you weren't so depressed. I thought if I went with what she was asking maybe things would work out all right. So in the moment I just sort of…lied…I'm really sorry if it offended you or anything of the like, but I had to make sure you knew and I was just so angry with her…"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. Those words were not what he'd expected to hear. And for a moment, the surprise almost caught him off guard. But in another moment he was back on his feet, working his deductions.

Hand in the hair…nervousness. Unable to make eye contact. Rambling. Adding details. He knew that well enough.

"So you…told her what she wanted to hear?" Sherlock said, eyes narrowing.

"Er…yeah," John said. "I did not really mean it. Just…wanted to make sure everything was all right. Just thought it would smooth things out."

He stared into John's eyes and pondered those words attached to the body language he was easily deciphering. The tenseness in his shoulders. The way he was fidgeting ever so slightly.

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "It's all fine."

He headed to the stairs in favor of not having to look at John any further. Not give away the fact that he was _certain_ John was lying. A small voice in the back of his head whispered it was sentiment getting the better of him. But there were too many signs. Every bit of the way John had said that had seemed like an invention…his nervousness and his inability to keep it simple. All he'd needed to say to Sherlock's question was yes. Instead he'd rambled. Created. Done his best to keep a story going.

Upstairs Sherlock went straight for his violin. Something to distract him. Anything. He didn't understand John's motives, and he likely wouldn't any time soon with the man's presence so close. No, he'd need to wait until he had some actual space to think before he worked on breaking apart those lies.

He removed his coat and picked up his instrument, just in time to see John coming in with another drink in his hand. He shook his head, wondering why John was still choosing to abuse alcohol after their Christmas fiasco.

"Where is it now?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at him. Eyed him. Took in the way his face looked drawn now. The way his hand curled tight around the glass.

"Where no-one will look," he replied.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures," John stated.

His mood was poor enough he was tempted to comment on how pathetic a remark it was. John's lack of basic reasoning sometimes… but still…this was the man he'd fallen for. And Sherlock didn't have the heart to see a look of hurt on his face right now.

"Yes, it is," he said calmly.

"So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?" John asked.

Sherlock had to maintain strong concentration to not flinch. _You deny you love me and all you can ask is about her_? he thought to himself. But instead he turned with his violin in hand, fiddling with it, even as his eyes closed for a moment. Everything in him wanted to know why John had lied. He wanted to ask why John was so fascinated with Adler when all they should be talking about were the words he'd spoken earlier. But Sherlock knew now wasn't the time and instead changed the subject.

"Happy New Year, John."

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John asked.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned with the violin. He locked eyes with John as he raised to his shoulder and easily glided the bow across the strings, beginning the simple familiar melody of Auld Lang Syne. A fitting tune for today, that was certain.

John shifted a bit under his stare, and finally settled in his chair. Satisfied that he'd efficiently stopped the conversation, Sherlock turned back to the window and continued to play. His eyes caught his own reflection in the glass, and he recognized how good it was he'd turned when he had. A single tear was glistening in the corner of his eye.

He swallowed, difficult against the wood of the violin against his throat, but not impossible. His eyes closed, and he felt that single drop of saline glide down one cheek and drip onto the instrument. In his mind he sang the words to the song, and reflected on how much more he wanted to have the truth than ever before in his life.

_Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind?  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
and old lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my dear,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne._

_And surely you'll buy your pint cup!  
and surely I'll buy mine!  
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne._

_We two have run about the slopes,  
and picked the daisies fine;  
But we've wandered many a weary foot,  
since auld lang syne._

_We two have paddled in the stream,  
from morning sun till dine;  
But seas between us broad have roared  
since auld lang syne._

_And there's a hand my trusty friend!  
And give me a hand o' thine!  
And we'll take a right good-will draught,  
for auld lang syne._

* * *

His gaze didn't waver as he stared at the image. This was becoming a bit absurd, he knew, but without any other clues this was where he had to turn. And this was the key. If he solved the puzzle of the phone, he'd have Adler out of his life. And with her gone he could focus his attention on John…

He found his mind wandering even as he continued to stare. John…the mere thought of him. It sent him into some place where he was incapable of reason. He almost smiled but had to stop when he noticed Molly staring at him,

"Is that a phone?" she asked, peering at the screen with a puzzled smile.

"It's a camera phone," Sherlock corrected her. He went back to staring at it.

"And you're x-raying it?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. "I am."

"Whose is it?" Molly asked.

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. All day he'd been trying to stop Molly from chatting at him. He'd been brusque with her. Kept his replies clipped. And yet somehow she still continued to try to make conversation, even with all of the ways he'd attempted to get her to leave off.

"A woman's," he said, thinking that would be the end of it.

"Your girlfriend's?" Molly asked with a playful smile Sherlock caught out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure why, but something about her behavior set him on edge. She'd been so eager to flirt with him the other night, but now she appeared perfectly calm as she asked if he had a girlfriend. How was such a thing possible? Human emotions. Those would always confound him. Reasons to not have them he supposed.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" Sherlock asked, blinking a few times to let the idea settle. Good god, did people in love really act so absurdly?

"Well, we all do silly things sometimes," Molly said with almost a giggle in her voice.

He straightened at her words. We all do silly things. No, she was right. It was just as he'd said. People in love did silly things. People did…

"They do, don't they," he whispered, turning to actually look at Molly, who appeared somewhat puzzled. "Very silly…"

He thought about that, about John in that moment. His lies. Silly…yes perhaps. Not quite so silly as x-raying a camera phone…but then again Sherlock had gone through John's emails and personal things on his computer. Why couldn't John be the same, doing silly things? Playing games?

"Molly," Sherlock said quickly. "Have you ever…lied about your feelings to someone?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Well, it's a matter of…you…have you ever had feelings for them, but pretended you didn't?" Sherlock asked. "As in, had the opportunity to say how you felt and flat out lied?"

Molly's brow furrowed. "Oh. Er…usually it's more the other way around, you know? Not really liking someone but saying you do for their sake…but I guess…you know if you're maybe scared of driving them away or something. It's possible." She sighed and gave a frown. "There was a guy in uni I really liked. And we dated for a bit. But he was…he wasn't good for me. My friend Meena kept telling me how horrid it was how he was treating me…how I wasn't really myself after being around him. Even though…even though I really loved him, when it came time for the next step I told him no."

Sherlock froze at that. Molly had presented two real possibilities. And both had him terrified. Either John really did love him but was worried his feelings might scare Sherlock off. Or, the alternative was that John really did love him…but felt that they wouldn't really be a good couple together. And with their history together, that was certainly probable. That John was happy living with him, but thought that Sherlock was too…Sherlock to possibly merit anything more. After all, it wasn't implausible for someone to find him attractive. Molly herself was evidence of that. But even she seemed to have moved on by now. He glanced her over and saw more than one sign that she'd had sex in the last week.

"I believe it's likely a case of the latter," Sherlock said. "He—Her treatment of me has led me to believe that's probably…probably what's going on."

Molly's eyes had softened some. She reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's. "She's an idiot. An utter and complete fool if she thinks you're somehow not good enough. You're lovely, Sherlock. So smart. So talented. You can be a bit…silly sometimes. But we all are. Nobody's perfect. I bet if you told her how you really felt she might come round."

He offered a half smile at her words. That was his Molly. Always so hopeful. It was quite foolish, but somehow he was unable to stop himself from having a little hope. Perhaps Molly had a point.

"What…what should I do to make my feelings apparent? Beyond actually saying them aloud," Sherlock said. "I want…I want to show her I care about her. I want to show her I can change if that's what she wants."

Her smile brightened a little more. "I'm sure she'd love it if you tried not to say some of the horrible things you do sometimes. You know…keeping your deductions to yourself a bit more. Er…she might like it if you actually say some nice things too you know, like…er…well complimenting her appearance or something nice she's done for you or something she's making an effort on. I always love presents too, you know. Love it when a guy thinks of me and picks up something special…doesn't even have to be chocolate or flowers or anything."

Sherlock nodded. "So being…kinder? And trying a little flattery and some bribes?"

Molly laughed. "Oh god you're terrible at this. It's just…little things. I don't know. Maybe you could write her a song on your violin and play it. Or I don't know…do something she needs done around the house. I'm sure you'll figure something out." She stared into his eyes. "Take her out to dinner maybe?"

He nodded, though all of it still seemed quite silly to him. But that was what one was supposed to do. And if in fact John had been lying for the reasons Molly had suggested, perhaps such silly things would convince him to change his mind.

"She's a very lucky girl," Molly said, smile still bright as ever. "To have someone like you."

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said.

He stood up and went over to snatch the phone out of the case. Molly was still staring at him. He gave her one last glance and a nod before reaching for his coat and going to the door before he even fully had it on.

Back at Baker street he found John lounging in his chair with his laptop and a drink in his hand. Sherlock stepped forward and offered his best smile when John looked up.

"Hullo, er…what's going on?" John asked.

"Just happy to be home after a long day," Sherlock said, pausing as he realized this was perhaps a bit much. On seeing John's puzzled expression he added, "Dinner?"

"Sure," John said. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Angelo's all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah fine," John said. "Could use a night on someone else."

Sherlock hesitated, wondering if he could offer to pay for John's meal without appearing too conspicuous. But Angelo's was an easy way to do so, he supposed.

As they headed down the stairs together Sherlock took a moment to scan John.

"You look nice tonight," he tried.

John shot him a look, eyebrows furrowed. "Er…thanks? If you're going to mention my clumsiness at work you might as well do it."

"Oh, not at all," Sherlock said. He had noticed of course. Seen the signs John had changed and had spotted the shirt in the kitchen sink with ink stains on it. "Is that a new jumper?"

John continued to gape at him. "What? No."

"Oh, my mistake," Sherlock said. "The color suits you."

And it did. That at least was not a lie. He tried his best to think more on what Molly had said. He hadn't been given a chance to purchase any kind of gift. But he'd have to think on that some.

"You all right, Sherlock?" John asked as they got into a cab.

"Hmm, fine."

Their ride over was mostly silent, but when they arrived at Angelo's, Sherlock did his best to put on his best manners.

He pulled John's chair out for him, helped him with his coat (and earned another look for it). He sat down and looked into John's eyes and asked him how his day was. There was a touch of incredulity in John's face as he simply settled for saying it was fine. Sherlock was about to press for more details when the owner ambled over to their table.

"Sherlock, so good to see you back," Angelo said, setting a candle on the table without even asking. "What can I get you two tonight?"

Sherlock smiled. "It's good to see you as well. I think we might want a moment to decide though."

"Ah, take your time."

The man wandered off, leaving Sherlock a chance to look at John again, admire his eyes and his slight smile.

"Some wine perhaps?" he suggested. "Something to share. What are you having?"

"Oh…er…might just settle for the fettucine again. Was quite good last time," John said.

"Then I'll have the same," Sherlock said. "And we can split a bottle of whatever Angelo recommends."

John's mouth dropped open. "You're eating? Thought you were on a case."

Sherlock floundered for a moment, thinking of the phone still tucked in his coat pocket. He did indeed have a case. But tonight was special. This wasn't just an average dinner with John. This was…a date? He wanted it to be a date. And when one was on a date they typically ate. He frowned and looked down at the table before coming up with a suitable answer.

"I need a little break," he admitted. "I've been puzzling over the phone for a good month now. And I need…time…to figure out its inner-workings. So instead, I'd love to enjoy dinner with you. Just…not think for a little bit."

John chuckled. "All right, fine. You're being strange today, but if that's what helps you, I can't argue."

Sherlock did his best to smile. "Then let's enjoy an evening, shall we?"

* * *

Irene jerked awake to a jarring noise. She pulled herself half off the sofa to look around the room, eyeing the various corners of the tiny hotel room, only to become satisfied that she was indeed alone. After a long moment she realized it was her phone.

With a groan she reached over to grab it off the desk, pulling it close enough to read the name before finally answering.

"Hello?"

"Hello…er…Miss Adler. I did as you asked."

"Did you, darling?" Irene said with a smirk, reaching up to rub one of her eyes. "And how did it go."

"Oh…fine. He…you were right he clearly is interested. I gave him some advice too. About being a good boyfriend."

"And he took it?" Irene said.

"Yes." There was a pause. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do? I really do want to help. Anything to make him happy."

"You've done well enough for now, darling. Keep an eye on him and do call me if anything changes, am I understood?"

She could hear Molly shuffling some in the background. "Yes, Miss Adler. He really loves him. I could tell just listening to him talk about it. We're doing the right thing."

"Of course we are," Irene said in a purr. "Goodnight, Molly. Do look into that dating advice I gave you. I think it will prove quite beneficial."

"Yes, thanks," Molly said.

Irene sighed and hung up. Such a delicious little thing. But such a disappointment. She eyed the phone one last time before pushing it away. Molly was a lovely woman, but her inclinations were just too tame to be of any use. Thankfully, they'd made themselves quite handy in terms of roping someone in to doing a little dirtywork on setting Sherlock and John up. But really…the whole romancing was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

She looked at her computer, eyeing the website she hadn't been able to stop looking at in the last few days. John Watson's ridiculous blog and her name splashed across it with the fact that she was alive. The idiot.

A quick trip over to her tech savvy masochist might have helped, but she already knew it was too late. Thousands had already seen the information. Removing it would do nothing.

As she was pondering there was suddenly another noise from the desk. She looked at her phone again and sighed. Molly Hooper calling back? Perhaps the precious thing had changed her mind on her offer.

Irene smiled and reached for it, only to make out the name and reel back.

She was frozen. She couldn't move as she stared at that familiar name, feeling like she'd somehow slipped into a dream. Should she pick up? Should she ignore it? If Kate was calling she knew… her innocence could no longer protect her.

After a long moment, she finally picked up the phone. Irene raised it to her lips, hardly trusting her voice.

"Hello," she managed to whisper.

"You bitch," Kate's voice came through the other line. "You utter bitch."

Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to think of an explanation. She had none.

"You let me grieve," Kate whispered. "You let me bury you. And all this time….I thought we were in this together. God, I was such an idiot."

"Kate—"

"No." Kate's voice is a snarl. "I was right all those years ago. I knew… I knew someone like you could never truly love someone like me. And all my friends…they all said you were dangerous. They said to steer clear of you. God, they were right…."

Irene thought her heart might have stopped beating for real. There were so many words in her mind, yet none would work on her tongue. _My darling, oh please. Please my beautiful lovely Kate. _

"I don't want to see you again," Kate said. "Not after having you put in the grave. God how could you do that to me? How…" she broke off, and the choked sound of her voice became hard again. "I don't care. No. I'm through. You go back to living our little risky game of a life. But you can count me out."

Irene felt her lower lip tremble, but again she couldn't speak. She waited, feeling a few tears already leaking down her face and knowing full well she would not be able to contain them no matter what she did.

There was no goodbye. No formal ending to the call. Merely the dial tone. Merely emptiness on the other end and Irene well aware that her phone would tell her the call was finished…much like she and Kate were.

After what felt like ages, she finally pulled the device from her face. Her shoulders began to shake as she sank back onto the sofa again. Her eyes closed, and she simply gave in. For once in her life, she allowed herself to be beaten.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to ChuYumeAkirameru, InsaneWhovianswithlegacies (sorry couldn't get the periods in without post taking them out) , MycroftTheGingerCat, and alexis for reviewing! Love the positive feedback, it really keeps me going! I estimate 3 or 4 more chapters (no promises)...so we're getting close to the end!  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Warning NSFW. Smut of the slash variety included in this chapter. It's not overly graphic (or maybe that's my own opinion after having read more than my share of smut), but I still want to warn any people who might be upset by this (though by now I'd imagine most of you are well prepared). Please please please just skip if you don't want to read it. No flaming me. I've warned you. **

**John's thoughts and behaviors towards Irene are not supported by the writer. I completely disagree with slut shaming and believe women should possess the right to have as much or as little sex as they like without repercussions, but felt a little trash!John was necessary for this chapter.**

**Chapter became a bit long, but I didn't really know how to break it up any better. And I hope it makes up for the long wait. Hope you enjoy it regardless!**

**O**

* * *

She was at her wit's end.

Her thoughts were lost to Kate most of the time. Every hour spent thinking what would have happened if she'd simply told the truth. Perhaps they would still be together.

Her heart ached, and for a moment she closed her eyes and her only thought was that it could all go away in an instant. There were choices she could make that would guarantee that.

Why flee when there was nothing left to fight for? It was obvious Moriarty had won. There was nothing left for her. No matter where she ran he would find her. And at this point the toll had become too much. So what options did she have left?

She'd been wandering London's streets. All of her safe houses had been discovered. Her few contacts were becoming more limited as Moriarty's terror grew. At this point where did she have left to hide?

Her eyes fluttered a bit, threatening to close without her permission. How long had she been awake now. Fifty hours? Seventy? Any more and she'd likely start hallucinating.

By now she needed a bit of everything. Sleep. Water. Food. Warmth. Perhaps a nice wash too based on her smell. There had to be another option. There had to be some way. She couldn't give up.

Irene thought for a moment and then she smiled. Well, if Moriarty had become her enemy, her enemy's enemy had just become her friend.

* * *

Sherlock had been…odd for the past few months.

That was really the best way to describe it.

Not that Sherlock wasn't normally odd. But…this was a different sort. This was too normal to be considered typical Sherlock behavior. And that was what was putting him on edge most.

John had been trying to puzzle it out for months now.

But of course, his detective skills were a bit lacking. And besides, every question he tried to ask Sherlock simply ignored. At least that was normal.

For once the flat wasn't a complete mess to come home to. Sherlock seemed to have made some kind of an effort on that, and even the bloodied body parts seemed to have disappeared. And then one day there was milk when he checked the fridge. An item Mrs. Hudson denied having bought, both of them turning to eye Sherlock upon hearing that. What could possibly be going on in that funny head of his?

But what startled John most was that the weeks of loneliness had ended. Suddenly, Sherlock kept finding ways for them to spend time together.

Dinner at Angelo's. More cases. Lestrade noticed that as well. Commented on it once or twice too as though his statement would somehow make a point. And then there were odd outings on occasion. That Sunday morning in particular, a walk in the park. By the time they got back, John realized he needed to act. Things had become too strange.

He'd decided maybe it was time to take a more direct approach. When they entered into Baker street he went right for the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine. Nothing like a little liquid courage.

Of course, right about the time he was going to ask if Sherlock might sit down and have a drink with him, the man disappeared into the back bedroom.

"Sherlock," John called with a sigh. Did he have to choose now to bloody wander off? They needed to have this talk. It'd been long overdue.

"We have a client?" the man said, still staring into his room.

"What in the bedroom?" John said with a chuckle, only to pause when he finally got to the door and saw the figure asleep on the bed.

He paused and stared at Irene Adler au natural, no makeup, but thankfully with some clothes. She was curled up, brow wrinkled even as she slept. Of course, in an instant John's entire body was tense, ready for the upcoming fight.

"Oh," he managed to remark as he stared at her.

To make matters worse, Sherlock stalked over and settled a hand on her arm. Gray blue eyes opened to stare up at them.

"Hello, Ms. Adler," Sherlock said in a low voice. "To what do we owe your visit?"

She blinked a few times and then gave a long, quite sensual stretch.

"I needed help," Irene said.

"And you believe I will offer it to you?" Sherlock said, eyes narrowed.

"I have nowhere else to go." She stared at him fixedly. "Will you help me, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, while John held his breath only able to hope that Sherlock would somehow decide not to. But of course, one glance in Sherlock's general direction was enough for him to deduce what the decision would be.

"I will help you, Ms. Adler," he said. "I could use an interesting case for once. Now, perhaps you'd like some time to clean yourself up before we sit you down to find out what precisely is the matter."

She gave a nod and sat up more fully. John's jaw clenched almost painfully as he turned to go back into the sitting area. He stopped in the kitchen, setting the bottle of wine aside. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter.

Of all the days for Irene Adler to invade their lives, why did today have to be the one?

He went and settled in his chair. For a moment there was a temptation to close his eyes. Maybe it was all just a bad dream, and he could wake up to find Sherlock alone with him in the flat.

After a bit the sound of footsteps stirred him from his hopes of sleep. He looked up at Sherlock as he stalked back into the room. His brow was furrowed, hands steepled under his chin as he began a pace of the sitting room.

"So, why's she here?" John said with a sigh.

"Not everything is possible to deduce, John," Sherlock said. "I still haven't cracked the code on her phone."

"She wants it back though," John suggested.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Most likely."

"And will you give it to her?"

He tilted his head slightly before turning sharply in the other direction to make a brisk line across the floor again.

"No, I don't believe I will."

"Then what?" John asked, doing his best to keep the edge out of his voice and mostly failing. "Aren't we at a stalemate if that's the case? She won't just give you the codes. You won't surrender the phone. Neither of you will get what you want. How can this possibly end all right?"

Sherlock's gaze fixed on him. "I'll get a few things I want. I guarantee it. As to what she wants…well we'll see how that works. I'll do what's necessary in the long run."

"Necessary for what?" John asked. But Sherlock seemed to disappear into his mind palace for a few moments. John rolled his eyes and settled for going over to open his laptop up. Perhaps he should just consider what the latest update on his blog should be.

Maybe, "Skank shows up for second time, Sherlock falls all over himself to impress." No perhaps, "The Slutty Fugitive"? No, even that didn't do it justice. He almost growled as he thought again of the woman in the bathroom. He should have refused to allow her to stay. Why hadn't he?

Well, the answer came down to one glance in Sherlock's direction. A single glimpse of those dark curls and those unfocused gray eyes. John managed to swallow, effectively keeping the emotions he was feeling at bay. He sighed and then closed his eyes for a moment.

He was roused from his thinking by the bathroom door opening. He glared in the general direction, watching as Irene stalked out wearing one of Sherlock's dressing robes. He was only thankful it wasn't his favorite. If that had been the case he might have flown at her to rip it off….or maybe not. That would likely put Sherlock in an even more awkward position again.

Sherlock motioned to his own chair. John clenched his jaw, but remained silent as Irene took her place.

"So," Sherlock said as he pulled up a chair. "Who's after you?"

"People who want to kill me."

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Killers," Irene said with a sharp look.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John muttered, doing his best to not simply lose his temper. Here they were helping her, and she wasn't even being straightforward with them.

Sherlock, for once, decided to make up for John's surly mood. He jumped in before John could do something he'd regret.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock speculated.

"It worked for a while," Irene said.

"Except you let John know that you were alive," Sherlock said, shooting him a look. "And therefore me."

John made a fist and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I knew _you'd_ keep my secret," Irene said, again looking at John, eyes glittering meaningfully.

"_You_ couldn't," Sherlock pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"But you _did_, didn't you," Irene said.

John was still trying to catch up. He'd followed at first, but the latest had him a bit lost.

"Where's my camera phone?" she asked.

There was a flash of red in his vision. All she'd put Sherlock through and still all she cared about was her precious phone.

"It's not here," he said. "We're not _stupid_."

"Then what have you done with it?" Irene asked. "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the strand a few months ago."

She shot him a fierce look. "I need it."

John sighed. Why on earth were they even helping her? Other than Sherlock's motives to impress her, there were no other options. It didn't take a genius to figure out he had to have a reason. Well, best to play along in that case.

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" He looked at Sherlock, doing his best not to stare too hard. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

It didn't take much of a deduction to see that Sherlock's smile was anything but genuine.

"Very good, John," he said. "Excellent plan, with intelligent precautious."

Even with the forced smile, for a moment he was slightly fooled. "Oh…thank you. So why don't…" he broke off staring as he saw the phone coming out of Sherlock's jacket pocket, holding it up to examine it closely before showing it to Irene.

"So what do you keep on here—in general, I mean?"

Irene smirked, and John imagined all the nasty things she could probably say.

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"For blackmail?" John asked, eyeing her. She was a slippery thing, but it was so obvious in those moments why Sherlock liked her. It wasn't just the sex appeal. It couldn't be. Sherlock didn't go for that sort of thing. But this…her very manner. Her intelligence. Those fierce eyes staring at him almost hungrily.

"For protection," Irene said. "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock asked.

John tried to resist rolling his eyes. Wasn't that obvious? She was a sex worker. A dominatrix. Honestly, he needed to make Sherlock watch more films. Maybe then the man would understand the whole role of femme fatale.

"I told you," Irene said, lips curling. "I _misbehave_. I know that might be hard for a virgin like you to understand, but do try."

Sherlock didn't respond to the insult. "But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

The two of them were staring at each other, eyes never breaking contact. John looked back and forth between the two, feeling like he was only catching half the conversation.

"Yes," Irene said, smirking. "But I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me," Sherlock snapped.

John sighed and settled back, waiting and watching as Sherlock pulled the phone away from her.

"Passcode," he said firmly.

_Take that, _John thought, only to watch Irene keep her hand out. _What an idiot. Doesn't she realize Sherlock's not going to budge_?

Of course, after a long moment, John was expecting her to finally give in. Only to see Sherlock finally sigh and hand over the phone. He opened his mouth to protest, shocked to see Sherlock just giving into her whims. But of course, this was Irene Adler they were dealing with. This was _The Woman_. Sherlock's one weakness it seemed. It had to be her.

Irene took the phone, still maintaining her smirk. John stared at her fixedly, watching as she typed something in, only for the phone to buzz. Her expression didn't change a bit.

"It's not working," she said.

"No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight," Sherlock said, snatching it from her hand.

John did his best to not sigh in relief. Good, so Sherlock hadn't intended to give her the phone then. Just trick her. Perfect.

Irene waited as Sherlock pulled another phone out.

"I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway," Sherlock said before typing in the numbers.

There was the same buzzing sound and then Sherlock was looking puzzled. A lump went down John's throat as he realized what that meant. Sure enough the woman's smirk was even more impressive.

"I _told_ you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand," Irene said.

Sherlock eyed her again. "Oh you're rather good."

"You're not so bad," she said, still looking him over quite hungrily. God, John just wanted this all to be over. He just wanted it to go back to him and Sherlock solving crimes without his stomach tying itself in knots every time Sherlock looked at him, or his jaw clenching every time he looked at Irene.

"Hamish," he said.

Sherlock turned to eye him suspiciously. The woman looked in his direction, but it was Sherlock's attention he'd really caught. It was Sherlock who knew he didn't say that name willingly. It was Sherlock who was all too aware of the extremes one had to go to get it.

"John Hamish Watson," he eventually muttered. "Just if you were looking for baby names."

He half expected Irene to ignore him, but instead her attention refocused.

"Hamish," she said, rolling the name around in her mouth. On any other beautiful woman he might have found it erotic. But with Irene it was quite easy to ignore. "Scottish in origin? Quite handsome, though perhaps a bit old-fashioned. Would it be Hamish Holmes then? Or Hamish Watson?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Oh, just tricky with last names you know. Well, it is for everyone in the modern world I suppose," Irene said with a wave of her hand. "But I rather like Hamish Holmes. Has a nice ring to it. Were you thinking surrogate or adoption?"

He blinked a few times, trying to catch up with her conversation. "What? I…I don't follow."

"Of course you don't," Irene said with a sigh. "He is adorable though, isn't he Sherlock? You like that sweet cluelessness don't you?"

Sherlock's attention refocused on Irene. "I find John to be adequately intelligent," he said. "But we weren't discussing him. We were about to have a look at whatever is on your phone."

Irene smirked and pulled it back out, carefully hiding her movements while typing in the passcode.

"One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." She passed the phone over to Sherlock, nodding to whatever was on the screen. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen – can you read it?"

Sherlock squinted at whatever was there, going to have a seat.

"Yes," he said, still eyeing whatever was there.

"A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."

Did she have to go into dirty details about all of her conquests? John wrinkled his nose at the thought. Why men enjoyed that sort of thing was beyond him. Though for some reason that sent an image of Sherlock bound to the bed naked, and he had to quickly dismiss the thought before he got himself into real trouble. He could picture Irene leering at him and his hard on. God, better to just sit tight and not think right now.

"What can you do, Mr. Holmes?" Irene purred, leaning forward over his shoulder. Her mouth was right by his ear. Whatever she said next, John couldn't hear. But her eyes flicked up to look at him as she did, still smirking and even adding a wink in.

Sherlock stiffened but his eyes began to move faster. Whatever she'd said was apparently a nice little catalyst. Probably promises of sex later then. Who knew Sherlock Holmes could think with his—

Sherlock quickly spoke. "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure—"

Whatever came next was a blur of details that John could hardly process in the moment. Not with Sherlock sitting there in front of him looking so beautiful and brilliant. All in the name of Miss Adler, of course, but it was nonetheless impressive. He began to harden. God, not now.

"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look ...," Sherlock said, turning the screen round to show him.

John did his best to straighten up and actually have a look while Sherlock explained the plan.

He did his best to absorb details while both confused and aroused. But of course, his name drew him out of his reverie.

"Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language," Sherlock said, looking bored.

_Oh fine, don't appreciate the praise,_ John thought. _You git_.

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice," Irene suddenly cut in.

John startled, unable to help it. He gazed back at Sherlock who hadn't so much as flinched. He stared at her unblinking, eyes never wavering from hers. Was this consent? Was he implying he wanted such things? Surely Sherlock, Mr. Tell-Everyone-My-Opinion would very clearly decline if he wanted to.

"John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?" Sherlock said, not looking away.

John nodded and set to it, somewhat relieved to be able to stare at his screen for a moment rather than at the two ridiculous people in front of him.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock said.

"Twice," Irene added, smirking. "Or perhaps you'd be more compliant with John having you. I'm fairly certain he could make you beg if he wanted to. In fact I'm quite sure of it."

John looked up, wondering if he should comment on that or just ignore it. After a moment he settled on just delivering the information instead. No not with his trousers already tenting a little. The last thing he needed was to raise suspicion.

"Uh, yeah, you're right," he said, only to realize how idiotic it sounded tacked on to what Irene had just said. His face felt too hot. "Er… uh, flight double oh seven that is."

Sherlock finally stopped his staring contest to look at him. "What did you say?"

"Er…you were right? About the flight?"

"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" Sherlock snapped.

"Flight double oh seven?" John said.

Sherlock stood silent for a moment, apparently processing, but he eventually nodded. He did have some idea then. But for whatever reason he wasn't going to say. For once he seemed to be keeping his head around the woman.

"So, good work on the information," Irene said with a sigh, flopping down in another chair. "However, I actually have some news I'd be willing to impart to you…provided I'm given compensation."

"Information?" Sherlock said. "What kind?"

"About a certain old friend of yours," Irene said. "A Mr. Moriarty."

"And the compensation?" Sherlock asked.

Irene smirked. "I'd like to see if Dr. Watson really could make you beg for mercy."

On seeing his face she laughed outright. John was scrunching further under the desk, trying to hide how much the idea was affecting him.

"It's not that hard Mr. Holmes. I'll direct you and him as I see fit. Just fifteen minutes. I promise you. I know that's all it would take."

Sherlock's face was stony, nearly impossible to read. John eyed first him then Irene again. She couldn't be serious, could she? After everything was she still set on this bizarre power trip? That had to be what it was. Her getting her rocks off at the thought of forcing them to perform sex acts. Though something glittering in her eyes put John on edge. Perhaps there was more to her sinister plan.

"Come Mr. Holmes. It might even save your life," Irene said before nodding to John. "Or his. Take your pick."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. It was easy enough to see his brain working even if he wasn't speaking. His eyes flicked over to John.

"What do you think?"

"Er…" John again shifted uneasily, glad Sherlock's deduction skills seemed to be failing him with Irene in the room. "If…well I mean…it's Moriarty right? We could probably use a few advantages. I'd say…yes? Only if you're game of course. Don't want to take advantage."

"Well, John, why not see if Ms. Adler can read her clients right. Besides, I…trust you," Sherlock said, standing up brushing his hands nervously over the top of the chair. His gaze went back to Irene. "Here fine or shall we go to the bedroom?"

"Oh I prefer here," Irene said, going to settle in Sherlock's chair. "Nicer view."

"And what," Sherlock said, his throat bobbing once, "would you have us do?"

"Oh never fear my pretty virgin," Irene purred. "I'll have this one take good care of you. Follow my instructions through for fifteen minutes, and I'll give you your information."

Sherlock moved slightly, going over to the doors and shutting and locking both, probably in hopes Mrs. Hudson wouldn't barge in. As he went back towards the couch he glanced back at John for a moment, eyes flashing uncertainly. God he made a beautiful sight.

However, John had more pressing issues on his hands. Namely getting rid of the hard on that was preventing him from standing.

"Dr. Watson, if you'd go over with Sherlock," Irene said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

After a moment he began to realize it was pointless to keep pretending. With a sigh he pulled away from the desk, moving over to where Sherlock was standing. Sherlock's eyes flickered to his tented pants, as did Irene's. She smirked. Sherlock's adam's apple bobbed again.

"No worries," Irene said with a purr. "He has that effect on me too. Why don't you start by giving him a little kiss, Dr. Watson?"

He leaned closer, licking his lips, eyeing Sherlock while his heart began to beat faster.

"John," Sherlock murmured.

"Just fifteen minutes," he whispered. "Got to keep you alive. It'll be all right." He paused for a moment, readying himself for what came next. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked like he might speak, but before he could John had moved in for a kiss, placing one hand on Sherlock's shoulder in reassurance before leaning in.

Their lips met. Noses knocked briefly until John adjusted slightly, turning his head to avoid the awkwardness. John kept it tender at first, just a soft light touch of mouths, no tongue included. He heard Irene's breath hitch behind them, even as his own caught in his throat. There was another noise too, and he quickly realized Sherlock had emitted some sort of groan.

Unable to resist that delicious noise, John moved back to place several other kisses, one or two on the corners of his mouth and his cheeks and his jawbone. Irene made a slight sound of approval from behind them before John moved back up to look Sherlock in the eyes.

"It'll be all right," he promised in a whisper.

One more look into Sherlock's eyes, waiting for consent. Then there was a nod, and John knew it was all right. They both needed this. Sherlock to obtain information on Moriarty. Him to finally have his chance with the man he loved. John shut his eyes at the thought before moving in to slot his mouth against Sherlock's.

This time he opened. Soft and easy, pulling Sherlock into the motions of a deeper and more intimate kiss. One of Sherlock's hands reached out to caress his face. Their tongues touched, lingered, tasted. His heart was pounding, unable to settle even as he kept the kiss tender. John felt as if he was dreaming again. Like he had on Christmas Eve thinking of him, and Sherlock in bed…God why couldn't this be real?

"Go ahead and kiss his neck a little, John," Irene instructed. "Give him another of those gorgeous love bites."

John sighed and pulled away from Sherlock's mouth, nipping at one of his lips as he withdrew. He gazed up into the detective's eyes for a moment, taking in the dilated pupils. Well, that was a good sign if nothing else. At least his body was responding.

He moved back to pull Sherlock's collar out of the way. His lips traveled down that sharp jaw bone to the pale smooth skin of Sherlock's neck. After a long moment of planting different kisses, he finally settled on a spot and sucked lightly. Sherlock groaned, and when he pulled away he could already see color blossoming.

"Lovely," Irene said, she sounded a bit out of breath. "Now undo his shirt."

John pulled the jacket aside. Sherlock helped him, shrugging his shoulder to toss the garment aside. John's fingers moved to the buttons, fumbling slightly as he popped the first one open, revealing more pale skin. He noted Sherlock was almost hairless, only a fine dusting here and there. After a moment of admiring, John began to work open the second button, moving faster now that he'd seen what would await him. A few more seconds and the whole expanse of Sherlock's chest was available to him. He licked his lips.

"Why don't you pay those pretty perky nipples a little attention," Irene said behind him.

It took all of his self-control not to just rush to her command. God, how he wanted that. But he couldn't allow her or his desires to have too much control. No. John moved to kiss Sherlock's neck again.

The man stiffened beneath him, before relaxing some as he realized John was working a path down. There was a stifled noise from Sherlock's mouth as John finally reached his destination.

"Love on them a little," Irene purred. "Do what you think will make him eager and wanting."

John hesitated a moment before leaning in to lick at the left one. Sherlock's breathing was becoming harder now. He wondered how much more the man could take. After all, someone as inexperienced as Sherlock had to be pretty sensitive. He moved over to the right, kissing it before taking it in his mouth and giving a light suck.

"God, John," Sherlock breathed.

Irene let out a sigh of her own.

After a few more moments of gentle affections, Irene finally stopped him.

"How do you feel about blowjobs, Dr. Watson?"

He felt like his heart might stop, even as his own body continued to express its interest.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Sherlock alive," John said, looking up at his friend. Sherlock was staring at him, though his expression was indiscernible.

"Then go ahead and undo his trousers. And if you'd like a little bit of fun for yourself in the process, undo yours too."

John pondered that. Part of him wanted to take care of his…er…problem. But at the same time this was embarrassing enough with an audience. And besides, Sherlock might feel used. So instead he shook his head as he sank to his knees.

Again his fingers were shaking by the time they reached Sherlock's fly. He was careful as he undid the button and then pulled down the zipper. He only paused when he realized Sherlock wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Bit of a bad habit," Sherlock managed to whisper breaking him away from his staring.

"Oh, no, no worries," John said. "You…forgot to do laundry didn't you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "John, if you please…your mouth?"

"Yes, all right," John said.

He pulled the trousers out of his way, revealing Sherlock for the first time, aroused and ready for him. His stomach jerked in anticipation as he leaned forward a bit. _Steady on_, he thought to himself before taking it in his hand.

Sherlock groaned above him, hips bucking ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered.

"What was that?" Irene said from the chair. "Did I hear you beg, Mr. Holmes?"

"Just do it," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, but he knew the longer he waited the worse he made this. No, better to get it over with. And with that last thought he slid forward to take to his task.

He'd never given head before. A few hand jobs, yes. But never this. It was different, but not unpleasant. Not repulsing by any means. And he found himself responding in kind as he saw Sherlock's mouth drop open.

"A bit more, Dr. Watson," Irene said. "Almost there. Do what you think would feel good. Make our dearest Mr. Holmes come for you."

John bobbed his head a bit, swirling his tongue. One of Sherlock's hands came down to touch the back of his head, those long violinist's fingers twirling into his hair, pulling him closer. Sherlock's eyes had closed and his head was thrown back. The noises coming from him were intoxicating. God, did this man have any idea how sexy he was?

"Pull off for a moment, Dr. Watson," Irene instructed.

He groaned but did as he was asked. There was an immediate temptation to just ignore her, but the whole point of this was to get her to talk, not to pleasure himself or Sherlock.

However, the moment his mouth moved away, Sherlock let out a cry.

"No, I…I was…"

"Close, Mr. Holmes? I'd imagine so," Irene said. "You know what you have to do."

Sherlock's eyes closed again. "I can't," he said through gritted teeth.

"Shush," John said. "Just do as she asks. If it saves your life isn't it worth it you arrogant bastard?"

Sherlock's nose wrinkled, but he seemed desperate enough to try anything.

"Please," he said after a moment.

"What was that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Please," he said again, eyes opening to look down at John. "I beg of you. Finish. I…I need it…I need _you_, John."

"Tell him what you want," Irene said. "Beg prettily and maybe he'll have some mercy."

John licked his lips, unable to figure out how to behave while waiting for Irene to give him permission. Well, if anyone had told him a year ago that a dominatrix would have him whipped into submission waiting to suck Sherlock off he would have laughed in their face. But here he was…kneeling and ready.

"Please," Sherlock said again, chest heaving. "Please, John. I…I beg of you. Your…your hand at least. Please. I'm begging. Mercy. John. Please."

"Go ahead," Irene said. "Finish him off for me, Dr. Watson."

He ignored her mentioning herself, as though she might at some point be in this same position. He could hardly imagine it. But Sherlock had complied with her demands. And after all, he'd humiliated himself just for information. John was more than willing to give him the mercy he deserved. He put his hand in place and began to stroke softly.

It only took a few tugs before it was over. Sherlock crying out and pulsing into his hand. John felt himself throb desperately, but he didn't dare do anything about it. This was about information. It wasn't about his pleasure.

Irene distracted him from his thoughts by tossing a towel his way. She was busy straightening up the dressing robe, and he suspected she'd been enjoying watching. But of course, he refocused on Sherlock before he could think on it too much. John cleaned himself and his friend before he did Sherlock's trousers back up carefully. After a moment he pulled away, even as Sherlock sat back on the couch, still regaining his breath.

"Excellent begging," Irene purred. "I knew you could, Mr. Holmes. Now, perhaps you and I should chat about Moriarty while Watson here takes care of his little..._problem_." She turned her eyes meaningfully towards his pants.

John scowled but did stand up.

"Er, right. I'll just go have a wash and then…I think I'll go to the store anyhow. We're running a bit low on milk again."

"Farewell, Dr. Watson," Irene said.

Sherlock, however, grabbed his arm before he could truly disappear into the next room.

"Thank you, John," he murmured. He hesitated a moment before leaning in to place a soft lingering kiss to John's lips. "I meant it. Every bit."

John searched his face for a moment, wondering if the man was lying for his sake.

"Er…right…anytime…I mean…you're welcome." He pulled away before it could become any more awkward. "Right, I'm off."

He walked to the door, closing his eyes for only a moment to steady himself. God, could this day be real? To think he'd had Sherlock there before him for once…like in all his fantasies and dreams. And yet to have him slip away in the end. Just like he'd always known he would.

* * *

Irene was still trying to gather her wits about her. After a rush of knowing she'd beaten Sherlock, procured information for Moriarty to save Kate, orgasmed quite nicely, and seen her two pets play together for the first time, she was more than a little bit overwhelmed. But that was all to be put behind her now. She knew what she had to do.

A little bit of her felt bad for the betrayal. She and Jim had been working together for a time. But for once she knew whose side she wanted to be on. Though she normally preferred to just stir up chaos and scandal rather than ever helping anyone but herself, for once she was going to change all that. She would pick her side in this war. And that was most obviously with Sherlock Holmes.

So she needed to ready herself then. Best to have what bits and pieces she wanted to give him ready. And if she was lucky, maybe Sherlock would even help her disappear after, so that Moriarty's wrath couldn't follow her anymore. But that was wishful thinking she supposed.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to Evangeline039, MycroftTheGingerCat, GayMexicanBatman, ConsultingTimeLadyFromHogwarts, ChuYumeAkirameru, and JessMill for the reviews! Positive comments always keep me going.  
**

**Hope to see you all in a few days at most. Working hard to get another chapter done and start wrapping this up!**


	14. Chapter 14

She watched as Sherlock buttoned up his shirt again. It was an irresistible sight, but even though she was interested, her heart wasn't really in it. Of course, the answer why still pressed at her mind. An answer she'd decided to just ignore.

"So, information," she said, stretching out her legs and eyeing him as he slid his jacket back on.

"Yes," Sherlock said, smoothing his hands over the flat plane of his stomach and then his sides, removing the wrinkles. "If you wouldn't mind. Since we gave in to your demands. I don't suppose you'll actually follow through."

"I made a bargain, Mr. Holmes. And I do intend to follow through," she said, throwing him a sultry smile. "So sit down. We'll discuss the few things dear Jim told me."

"And what exactly are those?" Sherlock said. He walked over to one of the chairs and sat, crossing his legs.

"Well, he's going to kill you," Irene said.

"Yes. I already was aware of that," Sherlock said.

"He's going to defame you first," she said. "Make everyone turn against you."

"How?"

She hesitated. "I don't know," she said. "But he is. He's clever that way. You musn't underestimate him. He'll try to destroy you, Sherlock Holmes."

"And are there any other tidbits you're willing to tell me?" Sherlock said with a sigh, eyes boring into her.

She was about to open her mouth when John appeared in the door.

"I'm going out," he announced. "Well…going to pop down to Mrs. Hudson's for a moment and then go out."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He stood again to go over to the table where he'd left his violin sitting. He picked it up and began picking at it.

"Yeah, all right. I'll see you in a while, Sherlock…" he paused in the doorway, looking meaningfully towards the detective, but he didn't respond. "Oh well, don't be surprised if he starts asking for me in a bit," John said, looking towards her. "He'll do that sometimes. Forget I've left. Well, best be off."

She listened to his footsteps on the stairs before looking back at Sherlock still cradling his violin close.

"Won't you come have a seat, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure we have a lot to discuss."

He looked up at last, eyes refocusing. "Hmm? I suppose we do don't we? Now how is Moriarty going to end me?"

She smiled. "Through the man that just walked out that door."

* * *

His mind was a mess. He couldn't straighten his thoughts out. For once answers seemed to be eluding him. He couldn't process anything, couldn't sort out the information Irene had just spoken to him. How could he when everything in him wanted to remember the moment John had brought him to—

Sherlock snapped out of his reverie, suddenly becoming aware of Irene sitting there and staring at him, eyes glittering in the low light.

"Where's John?" he asked.

"He went out a couple of hours ago," Irene said with a smirk.

"I was just talking to him."

She smiled. "He said you do that. You are rather fond of him, aren't you, Mr. Holmes?"

He swallowed. _More than I'd like to be, yes_. "I suppose. He's been useful to me on my cases."

She tilted her head slightly. "Is that all? I'd have thought by now you'd have puzzled it out. You and your cleverness and all."

He frowned, but again his thoughts ran to the events a few hours earlier. John's mouth. The intoxicating heat. The soft kisses ranging from affectionate to sensual. That mark that still was uncomfortable on the side of his neck. Why, he'd give anything to do it all again.

"From what you've just told me, it sounds as though John is a disadvantage," Sherlock said. "Moriarty's plan and all."

"Yes," Irene said. "It's always a disadvantage. But there are times disadvantage can be worth it."

"And why on earth would that be?"

Irene smirked again, but beneath her confidence he could catch something else. Sorrow perhaps. She was a tricky thing, Ms. Adler. He'd riddled her over a hundred times now, but that still hadn't changed the fact that he still felt there was so much more of her behind all the boldness. He tried to picture her younger. A little girl perhaps. Wasn't that the sort of thing John would do? What had made her the way she was?

"Have you ever had anyone?" she suddenly blurted out.

His brow wrinkled, but he didn't respond. She would have to press harder if she wanted an answer to that.

"Besides John," she clarified.

Sherlock remained silent. That was for her to guess, not for him to say. She'd seen enough of his private life for one day.

"And by had, I'm being indelicate," Irene added.

He gazed at her for a moment, clearly discerning her meaning but deciding there was no reason to answer. She'd given him what he needed. Nothing extremely important, but he had an idea now of what to expect from Moriarty so that was something. But as a result he didn't need to give her anymore than she already had.

"Well, I'll be delicate then," she said, rising and sashaying over, eyes never leaving his. "Let's have dinner."

"Why?" he asked, still trying and failing to draw himself out of his thoughts on John. After all the time he'd spent following Molly's advice he'd finally had his chance. And of course, it had to be in Irene Adler's hands. Not because John wanted to. But because he felt he had to.

"Might be hungry," Irene said, pulling him back out of his fantasies.

"I'm not," he said.

Her hand was on his, he stared down at it, wishing for the shorter blunter fingers of John instead. What would it take for that to be real?"

"Perhaps dinner with John then," she said.

"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?" he asked.

"You tell me. Haven't you eaten with him plenty of times when you weren't hungry?"

He frowned. "That's irrelevant. It's John…it's…"

She smiled, hand tightening on him some. "You're a fool to not see it, Sherlock Holmes." Her eyes trailed over him.

His fingers pulled her hand away, trailing down her wrist for a moment. It was there. Unexpected, but there nonetheless. He looked up at her, eyeing her carefully. There was an obvious answer, of course. Not one he wanted. But it was possible. But why try to distract him with John? To better hide herself he supposed. Make sure no one suspected how she really felt.

"If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with him?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, only to hear Mrs. Hudson's voice on the stairs.

"Sherlock!"

Irene drew back, smiling ruefully. "Too late."

"It's not the end of the world, it's just Mrs. Hudson," he said evenly.

She gave him another smirk and pulled back, standing and going over to the other side of the room. There was a sound on the staircase, and then Mrs. Hudson was in the sitting room.

"Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?" she asked.

His mind wasn't on the conversation. He was still thinking about the brush against Irene Adler's wrist. He knew full well what this meant. It was simple. All too simple.

He tried to protest as they told him he needed to come with them. But as always it was useless. He took the plane ticket, staring down at the 007 on the paper. Well, that settled it then.

Her eyes strayed to his as he rose to go grab his coat. He knew she couldn't come, so he drew near to bid her farewell. After all, who knew if she'd still be in 221 B when he came back.

"We'll talk later, Mr. Holmes," she said. "We have so much more to discuss."

For a moment he lingered, looking at her. What more could there be? But of course, those glittering eyes assured him of her intentions. He already knew then.

"Yes, well, until later," Sherlock said, before going to the door.

The car drive was a long one. The other men in the car didn't speak a word to him. He let his mind drift, though every time he tried to really _think_ all he could conjure up were images of John kissing him. John's soft reassurances in his ear. John's lips and tongue and teeth…

He hardly noticed when they arrived at the airport. He was still puzzling through John's motivations. To deny his feelings yet participate in all that…to pretend it meant nothing to him. Why? The obvious answer hung in the balance. Sentiment. Something he still felt he'd never understand. But Molly's answers weighed on him. And he knew the moment he returned to Baker Street he needed to press for some actual understanding.

After the car came to a stop he was ushered out. He walked past Neilson on his way into the airplane. The man made a few snide comments, but Sherlock did nothing to stop him. He would have thought the man would have learned his lesson, but provided there were no threats to John or Mrs. Hudson he would try his best to ignore whatever was going on.

And then he was on the plane, wandering the aisles, staring down at passengers who were far too still. For a moment he thought they might be mannequins. But it quickly became apparent they were anything but.

"The flight of the dead," Mycroft uttered.

He was in a fog. The case he'd just cracked. The woman he'd had chasing after him. John's attentions. And for once….he couldn't think.

Mycroft's sneering words had him at a loss. "The damsel in distress."

Perhaps it was meant to conjure images of Irene. But all he could think of was John. _It might even save your life. Or his. _Or even better, Irene's words in his ear as he leaned in to try to solve her riddle. _Impress your dear doctor, Mr. Holmes._

Mycroft stared at him, eyes boring into him. "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle," he sighed. "And watch him dance?"

"Don't be absurd," he managed to say.

_The promise of love_. He thought of John's beautiful smiles across the table from him. _The pain of loss_. His mind drifted to the morning after when John had clearly stated he was drunk and didn't remember a thing. _The joy of redemption_. There was John kissing at his neck, whispering it would be all right. _Give him a puzzle_. He'd had so many puzzles. But none worse than the man in his flat. None more meaningful or interesting to him. _Watch him dance_. And dance he had. Dancing around his feelings. Skirting around his jealousy as John brought home girl after girl. Dancing around the possibility of what a future might be like finally having someone. Knowing he wasn't really a freak after all.

"Absurd?" Mycroft sneered. "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really _eager_ to impress?"

Sherlock was still lost in John's blue eyes. He didn't get a chance to reply. But he didn't need to. A voice answered from behind him.

"I think it was less than five seconds."

He turned to look at her. The Woman. In full regalia. Hair coiffed. Makeup on. Ready for her next move in this game they were playing.

Mycroft looked from her to Sherlock and back again. "I'm sorry," he said at last.

Were it not for the distraction of Irene's sudden appearance, Sherlock might have scoffed at the apology. But for once, he didn't know what to say to his brother.

"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk," Irene purred.

He glanced at her, thinking over how he should proceed. But it was true, there was more to cover. Had all of her efforts merely been a distraction? Had she been trying to push him at John to have his help?

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on," Sherlock said, eyeing her.

However, to his surprise she didn't even glance at him. Instead, she pushed past him, smirking. "Not you, junior. You're done."

He recoiled slightly, trying to process what she was saying. Hadn't it been him who'd fascinated her this whole time? But instead, as she began conversing with Mycroft about her phone, he began to realize it wasn't in fact true.

"If you don't mind, Ms. Adler," Mycroft interrupted. "Perhaps we can move this to a more…comfortable and private location. I am willing to open negotiations. But not here."

"Sounds lovely," Irene said with a bat of her eyelashes.

Sherlock said nothing still. He had no words. There was still so much to consider. The world passed around him in a blur as Mycroft led them back to his car. Mycroft selected the passenger's seat while Sherlock and Irene slid into the back.

One of her hands slid up his thigh, breaking his train of thought.

"I am sorry you know," she whispered. "I would rather not have hurt you that way."

"Then why do it at all?"

Her eyes sparkled. "We all have our reasons, Mr. Holmes. I had mine. Just like you have yours. I told you…love can be a disadvantage."

She turned to look out the window, and he was well aware she was closing the conversation. He let his mind puzzle over her words. She'd said them to him regarding John. But here she was admitting this was her own weakness. Her own pressure point…one he could potentially use against her.

It didn't take long to arrive at Mycroft's residence. Sherlock sighed as he stepped out, though Irene soon was at his side again, practically clinging to his side. He wondered for a moment if she might be frightened of Mycroft. But of course, the idea was absurd. There was no possibility of that, especially as he watched her straighten when Mycroft glanced in their direction. She smirked, wrapping one arm around Sherlock's and leaning closer.

"Your brother truly detests me," she whispered.

"Of course," Sherlock responded. "He has every reason to. After everything you did."

"I told you already, I had my reasons," she said calmly. "So I ruined one little plot from the British and American governments. Trust me when I say there are bigger things coming."

"Moriarty," Sherlock said. "You've mentioned that already."

"Have I?" she asked, blinking. "Hmm well one forgets in such fine company. So…have you decided what you'll do? Will you tell John?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock said.

"You ought to. He'll help you. You should hold onto him while you can," Irene said. "You never know when you'll lose—" She broke off though Sherlock couldn't place if it was because they'd arrived in Mycroft's office, or because she'd begun to say too much.

She and Mycroft went straight to the table to sit down across from each other. Sherlock decided hiss thinking might be more productive were he to sit to the side. So he settled onto an armchair a few feet away, not even daring to look in Irene's direction, or especially not Mycroft's. He had no desire to see his brother's famous scowl.

"I suppose you think you've won then," Mycroft said. "Ruining our plot."

He could hear her smirk in her tone. "Haven't I? As I said, the information on your little plot serves me little good though. It's already out. Already destroyed. But I have other files you'd be interested in too…alongside those pictures of your client you'd rather not have exposed."

"And I suppose you have demands then?"

"Some, yes," she said. "Why I'm half inclined to take your brother, Mycroft. I think that might be a very fitting punishment for you with your carelessness."

Sherlock stiffened some. Would Mycroft trade him over in return for information? He knew the man was heartless at times, but surely not quite so bad as that.

"I'm afraid that will not do," Mycroft said. "But as to your demands, I'm still not sure you've earned them. After all, we could still find some ways to recover the information." He paused for a moment. "We have people who can get into this."

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, listening as Irene stated her case. He knew the facts already, even if Mycroft was still in denial. Irene had been thorough. She'd made her game perfect. Every so often he gave Mycroft some help in why the plan was unbeatable. He could hear his brother growing more and more disgruntled by the minute.

"He's good isn't he?" Irene added at one point. "I would have on a leash. In fact, I might."

Sherlock sighed at that. The only person he would ever let have him on a leash…well…it didn't matter anyways…

He listened on as she gave her demands. He tried to imagine what might be on that list. Money of course. Lots of it by the sound of things. Escape. A change of identity. But there had to be something else too. Was this really what Irene Adler was after? Money? It didn't fit. The motives just didn't suit her. And he knew if his name was on the list Mycroft probably would already be protesting. So what else could there be?

The answer had to be there. He kept searching for it. Wandering halls in his mind palace. Trying to find it. It had to be here somewhere.

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," she said suddenly. "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Those words for some reason made him notice an inconsistency. Jim Moriarty sends his love. And yet earlier she'd given _him_ information on Moriarty. Was she playing the two of them against each other? But instead it triggered his thoughts on their talk earlier. _Love is a disadvantage_.

"D'you know what he calls you?" Irene asked, a sneer in her tone. "The ice man." She paused and he could feel her eyes on his back. "And the virgin."

Mycroft sighed again.

"I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man." Irene said.

No, something wasn't right. Something wasn't fitting. Before she could say another word he was standing.

"No."

There were too many inconsistencies. _Well I am_, she'd said to John. _Look at both of us_. Moriarty, her kind of man. No. There was only one man Irene had admitted to liking. He'd asked for something. He was calling her bluff. She'd given him information. She hadn't wanted to, but she had.

"Sorry?" she said, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I said no. _Very_ very close, but no," Sherlock said rising.

His mind was working faster over the information. Pressure points. Moriarty knew how to play people. _The ice man and the virgin_. Virgin. Important. Untouched. Pure. Sexually inexperienced. A conquest. For Moriarty? Perhaps. Or had it been a shove to Irene. He could only guess it was that.

"You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"There's no such thing as too much," Irene said with a smile.

Mycroft was eyeing him nervously. _Never worry, brother dear. I'll fix this_, he thought. It was all in hand. He had his cards ready to play.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathize entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"Sentiment? The only one with sentiment is you, Sherlock dear," Irene purred, though her smile had dropped some. "Or are you going to still try to deny it? It was my best tool in the end in your undoing. As I told you, it will be Moriarty's too."

"And he likewise played you," Sherlock countered. "Sentiment," he spat out.

"Sentiment, what are you talking about?" Irene said.

"You."

She laughed. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you?" She crossed her arms and stared directly into his eyes. "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

Her eyes scanned over him, and he smiled as he pulled the last few pieces together. His checkmate was ready.

"No, because I took your pulse," he said.

Her smile dropped and she frowned.

"Elevated. You pupils dilated," he said.

He snatched up the phone. He had it now. In only a few moments he would restore all the wrong he'd done. Mycroft and Britain could be at peace again.

"I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive."

"I imagine he does," Irene agreed. "But what's that got to do with anything?"

Sherlock looked down at the phone in his hand.

"When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this ...this is far more intimate."

He opened the screen looking down at the "2 Attempts Remaining" there in red.

"This is your heart," he said.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him. He watched her swallow once. Signs of her coming fall. And she knew it. It was over now.

"And you should _never_ let it rule your head," he said.

He typed in the letters one by one, never breaking eye contact as he did.

"You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for ..."

Her eyes kept steady on his, even as her mask seemed to slip away.

"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage ... thank you for the proof."

And then he was hitting the final button. There it was. He turned to show her, watching her face as she saw the letters he'd chosen.

_SHER_. He smirked. I am Sherlocked. Clever. Playful. Just like her. He'd told Molly she loved to play games, and he'd been right.

He pressed the button, readying himself for the triumph of being able to hand the phone over to Mycroft. The game was over then. No more of this. Irene Adler, finished.

But before he could tell his brother he'd made up for his mistake, there was a harsh buzzing noise. He looked down at the phone.

_"Incorrect passcode. 1 attempt remaining."_

_Impossible_. He stared at it. He couldn't have miscalculated could he? No. This was Irene's heart. He was certain of it. All her ramblings about love and disadvantages. Her elevated pulse. Her dilated eyes. Wasn't that the answer?

"I'm afraid you mistake love and lust, Mr. Holmes," Irene said, her smirk returning. "You are attractive, I'll admit that much. But I have never once entertained thoughts of being romantic with you. Your heart belongs to another."

She paused and put a hand on his arm, even as his mind reeled.

"Were you really so blind to all that? A few chemical reactions and you think I'm _in love_?" she chuckled. "Oh by all means, Mr. Holmes, keep pretending you're so clever. But as I said already, you're a novice when it comes to love. I wouldn't expect you to understand the signs."

"I miscalculated," he muttered. "It must be."

"You aren't my heart, Mr. Holmes. Any more than I am yours. We'd be quite ill-suited for one another."

He frowned.

"You weren't far off though. Like you I need a heart to my brain. Brainy might be sexy…but it requires balance, doesn't it? Why if you only had your John here I guarantee he would have sorted you out."

_Sorted you out_. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. John. He needed John. She was right. And even if his heart shouldn't rule his brain, for once he'd let it.

He was there. In the dark halls of his mind palace. Stalking through them. He'd searched for answers. But she was right, he just needed the right tool. And as John materialized beside him, he smiled in relief.

_"What can you tell me about her motives? I've tried reason and it failed. She used sentiment. I need it too. Help me, John. Please."_

Mind palace John smiled. _"Gladly. What did she say to me again?"_

He frowned. _"That she was…gay? But she seemed to be indicating that she was…interested…"_

_"Oh Sherlock, even gay people can find those of the opposite sex aesthetically interesting. She was pointing out that sexuality isn't always a perfect box to put yourself in. It's a spectrum you know."_

That was true. She had said that. And he was a fool to forget it.

_"Her heart, Sherlock. Were you to choose a password from your heart, what would you choose?"_

He thought a moment. Everything in him wanted to use logic. But of course that wasn't a possibility in the criterion.

_"John_._"_

Mind palace John smiled warmly at him. _"Of course, because I'm the heart to your brains, as she said. So she must have one too. It stands to reason…it's how Moriarty manipulated her. It's why she's spoken of love the way she has. But it can't have been you. After all, she barely knew you when she first started working with him. Again, lust isn't a motivator. Love is."_

He thought back to the day in the house. Fire exposing priorities. Her eyes had turned to the safe first. But where else? And then he remembered. He recalled it. At the time he'd thought she must be looking towards the hall to see if there was any sign of fire. But instead, he knew now what she had to be looking for. That woman. The one in the hall. He'd dismissed it then, but there was something there. Irene's eyes had lit up when she'd been in the room. He'd watched something flash across her face when the woman was unconscious, even if she'd left her there. After all, by the time the police arrived that woman was gone…what had her name been?

He had to find it. Sherlock scrunched his brow in concentration. It was there somewhere. It had to be. He was so good at throwing out details he thought pointless. But the redhead…she had to be there.

After searching hopelessly he looked to John. He smiled warmly.

_"Don't remember, love? Want me to tell you?"_

_"Please."_

John whispered it. He leaned in to kiss his helpful assistant before pulling out of his mind palace entirely.

Mycroft's gaze was on him, a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Irene too was looking at him, though she was continuing to give him her famous smirk.

"It is your heart," Sherlock said. "And you were a fool to expose it."

"My heart? And how would you know about it?"

"The heart to your brain. As you said. I suppose your little games with John and I make sense now. Living vicariously probably." He snorted. "You said killers were after you. CIA would never have actually done away with you. Locked you up maybe. So who could that be? Why the man you mentioned earlier. Moriarty. And while he might have given you advice, I highly doubt it was free. So he wanted information? Information you did end up giving him. But at what cost? No, he had something more on you than simple helpful advice. He was the reason you faked your own death. He was the reason you ran. But it wasn't for you. No."

He typed in the letters one by one into the phone. He smiled as he saw her face pale.

"It wasn't real," she whispered desperately. "It was all a game."

"Yes, and this is losing," Sherlock said. "Games of the heart, Ms. Adler. Most costly."

He held up the phone to show her what he'd typed in. _KATE_. She swallowed, watching as he pressed the enter button. And for once the phone opened up to display its menu.

Sherlock tossed the device to Mycroft.

"There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight," he said.

Mycroft nodded and thanked him.

Sherlock turned to look at Irene again. Her entire posture had an element of defeat to it. She knew it was the end.

"If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

Her eyes watered. "Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Why not?" he said, cocking his head. "You made me beg you and John. Isn't it your turn then?"

"Please," she said after a moment. "I gave you what you needed. You can pretend all you like that it's a weakness, but you want love as much as I do. And I gave that to you. Without me you would have never seen it."

"Seen what?"

"That you're the perfect match for John Watson," she said.

He stiffened. "Your little sexual games prove nothing. As you said, love is not the equivalent to lust. John might have proven enjoyable, but sexual stimuli proves nothing on my feelings."

She shook her head. "He loves you. He might deny it. But he does. I promise. If you ask him in a straightforward manner and confess how you feel you'll get your answer. But it doesn't take a genius to see the way he looks at you."

Sherlock was silent. He had no words for her. His heart was pounding more quickly. Was it possible? He had been suspecting John had lied…but it still seemed so unlikely. Could John truly love him?

"And what's in it for you? Telling me this?"

"I lost the woman I loved," Irene said. "She'll have no part of me since I lied to her. I never…I never even got to tell her how I truly felt….I danced around it. Pretended it was all sex. But it wasn't. And I'll never get a chance to make that up to her.

She was silent for a moment before adding, "Perhaps you're right. Leave me out on my own. I won't last six months… but without her maybe there's nothing to live for. But at least you…I hope you at least won't make the same mistake. Don't let him slip away, Sherlock Holmes. Not while you have the chance."

He looked at her. Ran his eyes over her and her sparkly dress and her red lipstick. This woman who seemed to be every bit as fake as a plastic doll. Perhaps this too was a ruse. A game. But the proof had been there. Kate was her heart. Her passcode.

Mycroft's eyes were on him. He knew that there was nothing he could do. Not now at least. But back at home…after he'd sorted it all with John, maybe.

"Sorry about dinner," he said. "But as you already said…it would never have worked out." He spared her one last look before turning and going to the door. It didn't take a second glance to know she was already crying.

* * *

She was in a state of disbelief. She had somehow thought it would all pan out. Giving information to Jim. Giving information to Sherlock. Getting her demands from Mycroft. And with the money and her new protection, she'd hoped maybe she could find Kate…beg her. God she would beg for that woman. A thousand times over she'd ask Kate to be hers again.

But instead she'd lost.

All her time playing the game and she'd lost. She wasn't even sure if her plan with Sherlock and John had succeeded. She'd pushed them as much as she could and still the two stubborn idiots refused to budge.

And now she was truly lost. She heard Mycroft clear his throat behind her and turned. It was difficult to face him knowing there were tears on her face, but she still knew she had to.

"I agree with my brother, I'm in no mood to be generous," he said. "You are free to go as you like. But I'm afraid you'll be given no protection. Think of it as your punishment. If you're clever maybe you'll survive a few more months at least. I'd enjoy them if I were you, Ms. Adler."

She pursed her lips. "And you, Mr. Holmes. What would you do with a few months left?"

"Make the most of them," he said with a frown. "Fix old wrongs. I'm not sure I'd do anything less than most people. Even the most intelligent of us have a touch of sentiment at times." He eyed her. "When you said that about my brother and his friend, were you lying? I won't tell him either way."

She sighed. "No. Not even close. They feel something, the both of them. But whether either of them will ever act on it is a mystery I cannot solve."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "As much as I loath to admit it, I wouldn't mind seeing my brother settle down. John Watson has done him a great deal of good." He paused. "I do hope you're right."

She gave a feeble smile and nodded. "At least if he's happy that's something. As I said, I suppose I don't have much to live for anymore."

Mycroft's smile was quite forced. "Well, then find something for a few more weeks. Not long, of course, but it's something. Good night, Ms. Adler. I assume you can find the way out?"

"I suppose I must," she said. She picked up the coat she'd brought with her, sliding it over her shoulders. Without another glance at Mycroft she walked to the door. A few more weeks. A few more months. Who knew how long it would be. She'd flee of course. It was instinct. Simple as that. Anything to keep herself going. But in the end she'd embrace death. After all, all lives end.

* * *

**A/N: I was originally going to have the phone passcode be Johnlocked but I figured that was too much. And no, I didn't add any attempts on the phone. He didn't try the one in Molly's lab that he does in the show.**

**So if I'm calculating correctly there should be one more chapter left. Now, that's provided I think I have enough time to wrap it all up, which might end up proving impossible with these two idiots. I'd say max two though (I really really hope I'm not miscalculating on that one…). But the end is nigh! **

**Thanks to MycroftTheGingerCat, WRose, and French Fabulousness of France for the lovely reviews! (sorry if I missed someone, does glitch sometimes just let me know!**

**Hope to see you again soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Warnings: NSFW, slash smut (yes more). Also, I know there's a lot of controversy over top vs bottomlock. I alternate regularly and did at least suggest the possibility of switchlock, but if you're not a bottomlock fan I'd just skip the smut scene.**

* * *

Her heels clicked as she walked, marching over the pavement, heading into the night. If only it could swallow her up. What she wouldn't give to disappear now.

It shouldn't take much normally. But now was anything but normal. She didn't have her tools. No phone. No backup information. Nothing to bargain with beyond a little sex here and there. And of course, no Kate. How could she be expected to function?

Every person in the streets was a potential enemy. As she scurried past another woman she did her best to look down, thinking how possible it could be that someone had already sent a killer after her. They had nothing to lose now. She was a sitting duck, and it was open season now.

Whatever she did, she needed to face the reality now. It was only a matter of time.

Just as she was moving onto the tube her phone beeped. She frowned and pulled out the burner she still had. The message flashing on the screen was almost enough to make her drop the mobile.

_Incoming message from Sherlock Holmes_

Could it be real? Was it a taunt of some kind? She hardly dared to hope as she pressed the buttons necessary to open the thing. And was presented with three words she hadn't imagined she'd see.

_You were right_. –SH

She frowned and studied it. A trick? Did she dare respond?

But without any options there really wasn't a point in ignoring it.

_About what, Mr. Holmes?_

She sat and waited. Nothing came. With a sigh she settled back in her seat. A game then. Even though she'd been informed it was over.

It wasn't until she was off the tube and boarding her train that she finally had a response. Another beep as the sun's rays began to peek in through the windows.

_I might have tested your theory last night. Quite the results_. –SH

It took a moment, but after some thinking she realized what he had to be talking about. She typed out her response and sent it, turning to smile at the window. Well, there were some good things then. Even if her own happiness had been denied, at least Sherlock's had been found.

_Congratulations Mr. Holmes. I hope you'll be very happy_.

When he returned from his night out, John found the flat empty. One glance at Sherlock's bedroom door thankfully confirmed it was open and unoccupied. Well, that was a relief at least. Good to know that he and that _bitch_ weren't screwing each other senseless. But then again, if they'd gone out…well God only knew what kind of possibilities there were outside of the flat.

He poured himself a drink and settled down in front of the telly. No point going to bed. Not when curiosity about Sherlock and his whereabouts would keep him up.

Mrs. Hudson interrupted him a few minutes later.

"You seen Sherlock?" he asked.

"Oh he and that…woman went out ages ago," Mrs. Hudson said. "Some friends of his brother turned up here and asked him to go with them. She left a little after all dolled up and everything. Not sure what it was about."

She sighed and shrugged, leaving John's stomach sinking as a sense of foreboding crept over him. Nothing good then. No, this didn't sound good at all.

"She's a rather odd duck isn't she, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, moving over to dust over the table. That was Mrs. Hudson for you, attempting dusting when Sherlock wasn't there in hopes he wouldn't notice…which he would.

"A bit," John said. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"And is she…" Mrs. Hudson paused. "Well I'd always thought Sherlock must be…with never having any women over. There's that Molly Hooper you know, but other than her I've never seen any. But is she…?"

John sighed. Just the question he wanted to answer.

"I don't know, Mrs. Hudson. I've never been able to wrestle any answers out of him," he said. "But he and Adler do seem to be close, I'll give them that."

She went back to her dusting, and John closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. With any luck Irene Adler would be back off gallivanting about the country soon and he wouldn't need to worry about her.

He let himself pay attention to the telly for a bit, drifting in and out of real awareness of the flat. He sipped at his drink, pouring another whenever he finished one. He was well on his way to getting thoroughly pissed when the door downstairs opened.

"Oh, is he home?" Mrs. Hudson hissed. She pushed a few stacks of papers back into place and shuffled nervously towards the stairs, meeting Sherlock just as he reached the landing.

"If you're quite through with your dusting, would you mind giving John and I a minute?" Sherlock said in a crisp tone.

Mrs. Hudson gave a little sigh and a quick scolding before heading to the stairs. John waited until he heard her door close before speaking.

"What happened?"

"Solved the case," Sherlock said with a frown.

John expected him to go sit in his chair, but he didn't.

"Er…the case?"

"The Woman. I cracked the phone code. Returned its contents to Mycroft. England is safe once more."

Oh, well that was a surprise then. John shifted and sat up a little straighter, setting his drink aside.

"That's fantastic."

Sherlock's expression didn't change. He might not be an extremely positive man, but John knew he normally expressed more happiness in light of a solved crime.

"Er…isn't it?" he asked, eyeing the other man carefully.

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "Information is secure. Further problems have been stopped. Mycroft has a smaller headache to deal with. And The Woman will likely be killed within a few months, the world at peace again."

Ah, so that was it. John frowned. Of course, Sherlock would be disappointed she was going to be gone soon. Upset that the one woman he'd cared for wasn't a possible person for him to love.

"I'm sorry if things didn't go right," John finally managed. "Well, with you back I'm heading to bed. Have a good night."

He rose and tried to move past Sherlock, only to have his arm caught in one slender hand.

"What?"

Sherlock's eyes locked on his.

"The Woman…before we parted…she said you were lying. She said you…you have feelings for me. Is it true?"

His heart jolted even as his stomach seemed to twist up in knots. Why would she say that? One last power play then? One last chance to try to screw up things between him and Sherlock? Of course, such things were too hard for her to resist.

"Er…I…"

"Be honest," Sherlock said, eyes flashing. When he noticed this wasn't getting him answers he seemed to visibly soften. "Please, John. Tell me. I want the truth."

"The truth? You mean you can't just look at me and tell?" John scoffed. He let out a long sigh. "Fine, yes. The truth is yes. I have…feelings for you. I…I didn't want to ruin this. You're my friend, Sherlock. This was the last thing I wanted…but somehow in the midst of all the teasing and the crimes and the time together…I developed a rather strong sense that…that you were the one I wanted."

Sherlock was frozen, face still stony. "You said you weren't gay."

He sighed. "That's because I'm _not_. God, people just want to make it straight or gay always don't they?" He let out a humorless laugh. "I'm interested in both I guess. Have been for a while. Hate people assuming one way or the other. I'm interested in men and women and that's that. I always have been."

There is no movement save for Sherlock's eyes. They flick back and forth, probably searching for the lie. John's entire body tenses as he awaits the response. Sherlock said he knew it was all right that night at Angelo's when they'd first met. But was it? It was one thing not to be straight, it was another entirely to be…in love with Sherlock.

"So…you…are in fact…" Sherlock broke off, brow furrowing some.

"Yes," John said without hesitating. He reached a hand out and laid it on Sherlock's shoulder. "Yes."

"After all this time? How…how long?"

John swallowed and willed himself to speak calmly. "Ages. I think I've had them all along, but that kiss…it opened my eyes. Made me more willing to see it."

Sherlock blinked a few times, but still kept his gaze focused. John wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He needed to be ready the moment Sherlock spoke.

"You said you didn't," Sherlock pointed out. "After you told The Woman that you loved me you denied it…said it was to get her to act and help me."

"Yes," John said. "I lied. I…I didn't want to ruin things. I've never wanted to ruin things."

One of Sherlock's long fingered hands came up to caress his cheek. John jerked a bit at first, stilling only when he saw Sherlock smile.

"Oh John, you could never ruin things," he said.

John felt his breath catch. "Then it's all right? We'll just…work through it? I'm sure I'll move on eventually you know. I'll find someone else and we'll get married and it will all be fine."

Sherlock shook his head, and again his eyes seemed to be surprisingly warm, a half-smile still in place.

"There's nothing to work through," he said. "I'm…I'm yours, John. If you want me."

It felt like his heart had stopped beating. John blinked a few times and took a step back, trying to ground himself in reality. Was this another of his dreams? Would Sherlock pull his shirt off in the next minute and demand they have sex? Because that sure would confirm it. No, this couldn't possibly be real.

"But you're…" John broke off hesitantly.

"I'm what, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Well…you don't…work that way," John said. "I mean, when I've asked you about boyfriends or girlfriends or anything you just…" he cleared his throat, "you said it wasn't your area…that you were married to your work."

"I was," Sherlock confirmed. "At the time. I don't generally consider matters like this to be important. I've had dalliances of course. Experimented quite a bit in uni actually. But I soon found there was very little that really interested me. People were so boring, sex was so…dull."

John felt his heart sinking. So it was too good to be true.

"But it's not like that with you," Sherlock said. His eyes seemed practically luminescent. John tried to remember if he'd ever seen them like that before. So full of life. So full of _feeling_.

"It's not?"

"No," Sherlock confirmed. "You make me…different. Better. You understand me."

John opened his mouth to protest, but one of Sherlock's fingers pushed to his lips before he could.

"No, not completely," Sherlock agreed. "But you care about me, John. Very few people ever have before. I've built something with you…a connection I suppose. And through it I can find a means of feeling…a means of loving. All that I've tried bottling up before comes flowing out of me through you." He paused and gave a wry smile. "In the interest of not sounding like I'm writing a blog post extolling your virtues, I'll simply say that the rules don't apply to you, John. I care for you. I want you. I…love you."

His throat was closing up. A few tears pushed at his eyes, and John was helpless but to let them roll one by one down his cheeks. Sherlock's eyes widened, and he drew back some.

"I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…I…" the detective stammered, clearly horrified by the display.

"No, you prick," John said, voice coming out choked. "God, you're so clueless. I'm…I'm happy Sherlock. I…" He reached up to brush away a few tears, smiling as best he could. "I love you too. It's more than I ever could have hoped for."

Sherlock's expression lightened, and he gave yet another rare half smile. One of his hands moved to trace John's cheek, brushing aside a last lingering tear.

"May I kiss you, John?"

He felt like his heart might truly stop. God, could this be possible? Sherlock Holmes asking to kiss him?

John licked his lips and managed a nod, waiting breathless as Sherlock leaned forward. One of those hands had his chin gently tilted, the other hand moved to press against his back. For a moment, John let his eyes linger on Sherlock, but as soon as their lips pressed together he let them fall shut, surrendering to darkness in favor of just letting sensations take him.

As he remembered from before, Sherlock's kisses were addicting. Soft at first and then more passionate. Starting with a little lip and some teeth, before throwing in the addition of his tongue. John pressed a bit closer as it deepened, enjoying the way his body moved to rest against Sherlock's.

"John," Sherlock murmured when they broke apart, panting for breath. He smiled again, fond and tender. "I am so incredibly glad…I never imagined…"

"Me neither," John said with a sheepish grin. "But Christ that felt good. I'm just…I'm so relieved."

"As am I," Sherlock murmured, leaning in to brush a kiss against John's cheek and then a few more at his neck.

"Shall we…ah…move this to the bedroom?" John managed to grit out.

Sherlock pulled away, eyes wide. "Is that your desire? That we…"

It was difficult to keep the incredulity off his face. "Are you joking? I've been wanking to thoughts of you for months now. If I don't release some of this tension I'll explode."

Sherlock gave a light smirk. "I'll ensure you explode…but in a way I think you'll find much more pleasurable."

But it only took a moment for the mirth to leave Sherlock's eyes.

"What is it?" John asked, moving to snatch up one of the man's hands, clutching it tight in his own. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"It's just…" Sherlock broke off.

"Do you not want to do this?" John finally asked. "Shit, I've messed up haven't I? You don't want to have sex and here I am pressuring you to do something you don't…" he broke off with another curse.

"No," Sherlock said. "I just was thinking about Christmas Eve…"

"What about it?" John asked.

His thoughts went racing back to that night. But all he could come up with was how upset Sherlock had seemed to be over Irene's death. Surely there was nothing about it that should cause him so much distress in the moment.

"I…I thought I'd practically assaulted you," Sherlock murmured. "When you said you didn't remember the next morning…I thought…" He broke off, voice coming out choked. "All this time I could have been with you, and I didn't even know it."

"Wait…you mean…" John trailed off as he thought about that night and his ridiculously erotic dream. "That was…real? What happened? Was…"

"Yes," Sherlock said.

John's eyes closed as he worked to keep his emotions under control. God, why had it happened like this? Why not like any other couple falling in love?

But in a moment, he knew the answer. This was Sherlock after all. Nothing would ever be simple or normal with him, and that was what John loved about him if he was honest. His eyes opened and he stepped forward to smile at Sherlock.

"Don't think about that now," he said. "Now…would you like to take me to bed?"

Sherlock's eyes ran over him, clearly considering it.

"As long as you're certain we're not moving too fast?" Sherlock said. "I'm…still rather new to all this."

John grinned. "We've had months of taking it slow, Sherlock. I can handle things speeding up a bit. Now, are we ready? Or do we need a few more months to consider the implications."

Sherlock's eyes glittered. "No."

It was a sort of mad scramble towards the bedroom. They had an unspoken understanding that Sherlock's would be easier to reach. And without further ado they were moving through the door, mouths still trying to kiss, hands grasping where they could.

John almost tripped as he moved towards the bed, gathering his bearings as he pushed Sherlock forward. He watched in a mixture of amusement and arousal as the detective fell onto the bed, arms still wide as he beckoned John to come lie down with him. John felt himself harden just at the sight of Sherlock stretched out on the bed.

"God, you're so…so perfect," he managed to gasp.

"Please," Sherlock managed to mutter as he pulled John closer, "tell me this won't result in some awful drawn out blog post?"

John smirked and shook his head. "You're all mine. I'm not sharing you, Sherlock. Never. Now come here."

His fingers worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. He thought back to earlier when he'd done this for Irene's little games. But this time it was for his own pleasure, and he couldn't deny how much faster his heart was beating as a result.

It felt like ages before he finally wrestled Sherlock's shirt off. By that time the detective's fingers were working at the bottom of his jumper, pulling it up and over his head. John took a moment to admire Sherlock's toned chest before he fell back on him for more passionate kisses.

"John," Sherlock muttered. "I believe we might find more satisfaction in removing our trousers and pants. Or had you planned to simply rut upon each other while clothed?"

"Impatient wanker," John said, reaching down to quickly pop the button on Sherlock's trousers. "We'll have to get you out of these then."

Sherlock squirmed beneath his hands, but John couldn't say he faulted him. It was so easy to be impatient after all they'd been through. His breath caught in anticipation as he wrangled the pants down around Sherlock's knees. Sherlock looked up at him, licked his lips and then began reciprocating by pulling his own trousers and pants off.

John fell upon him again, moving to kiss him deeply, tongue sliding in as his fingers threaded into Sherlock's curls. He moaned slightly, moving so that his entire body was pressing along Sherlock's.

"John?" Sherlock managed to murmur, just as he was pulling away.

He dove back in for another kiss and then a few softer ones on Sherlock's neck, settling on an earlobe to give it a satisfying nip.

"Yes?"

"I hate to…interrupt," he panted. "But do we have any of the necessities? Condoms? Lube?"

John froze and stared at him. "What?"

"I'm only…only enquiring before we go any further," Sherlock said, chest rising and falling rapidly. "We might want to…be prepared."

"Do you not have anything?" John asked, voice rising in his surprise.

"Some lotion that has served its purpose for the occasional session of masturbation," Sherlock said. "But I certainly don't keep condoms. I've never really had a use for them other than the possible odd experiment."

John groaned. "Fuck. All right, stay here. I'm going up to my bedroom to grab things. I'll be back in a few. Don't you move a muscle, you hear me?"

Sherlock frowned. "I must breathe and allow my heart to beat—"

John gave him a slap to his thigh that had him gasping, staring up with a half accusing half aroused look.

"Wait for me," John said again. And then he was out into the hallway like a shot, going for the stairway and then up to the bedroom upstairs.

It took him only a few seconds to locate the bottle of lube and condoms he kept on hand. With the items he needed safely in hand, he started back down the stairs, only to run into Mrs. Hudson on the landing.

"Christ!" John gasped, doing his best to cover himself, and finding all he had to do the job was the lube. It did a pitiful job of it, but it was better than nothing.

Mrs. Hudson took a moment to process, but the second she did she went red in the face and let out a shriek before finally covering her eyes.

"So sorry, Mrs. H," John managed to shout before making the rest of the dash back towards the bedroom.

Sherlock had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking at the doorway with amusement.

"I dare say Mrs. Hudson won't be forgetting that sight anytime soon," he said with a smirk.

"Probably not," John muttered, thinking of her horribly shocked face. Poor woman. Well, if she'd wanted them together she'd gotten her wish. It wasn't his fault she'd seen a little more than she probably wanted to.

"Come 'ere you," John said, sliding back into the bed and moving to pull Sherlock close again, lips finding a place on his collarbone easily and then moving back up to his mouth.

"I love you, John," Sherlock whispered.

He thought his heart might have stopped. Those words, so simple, yet so lovely. So full of meaning. He stared into those stormy blue gray eyes and was unable to keep a smile from his face.

"I love you too," he whispered. "Now, how about we finally have a good shag, what do you say?"

Sherlock smiled. "I would love to. Though…I do believe most men have an understanding of…who will top? Do you have a strong preference?"

It took John a minute to resurface from images of himself fucking Sherlock, and Sherlock fucking him.

"Cor, I…I suppose more often I've fantasized about top," John said with a shake of his head. "But were you to want that I'd be more than happy—"

Sherlock put a finger to his lips. "That's not necessary, John. For tonight…start on top. We can negotiate other possibilities in the future. But for now let's keep it simple. Would you do the honor of taking me, John Watson?"

He grinned. "I'd love to, Sherlock Holmes. Now, if you're quite finished running that smart mouth of yours, I'd rather put it to better use."

Sherlock's eyes glittered again, and he pulled John close to plant a more tender kiss. "Then by all means, proceed."

John[E1] groaned and obeyed, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock before moving down his body, easily settling between his spread legs. He swallowed, doing his best to calm himself down before he began. No need to rush this. They had all the time in the world.

He coated his fingers, moving to press one in with a kind of hesitance he'd never employed in sex before. Sherlock was gazing down at him, his mouth partway open as he fought to catch his breath. John held his breath for a moment as he began, pushing in, and stretching lightly.

"Is that all right?" he asked cautiously.

Sherlock let out a groan even as he threw his head back.

"If you ask that again we're stopping now," he said. "I'm not going to break. And if I'm the slightest bit uncomfortable I will be letting you know. Now, if you wouldn't mind focusing we might actually enjoy this more."

John grinned. He was always such a smart arse that Sherlock Holmes. Not that he minded, at least right now. It was somehow endearing in the moment.

"I'll take good care of you," he went ahead and added, before adding another finger. He sought out Sherlock's pleasure, unable to contain his own sigh when he saw Sherlock's entire body arch into his touch.

_He's so perfect_, he thought to himself, not daring to add it aloud in case Sherlock again commented on the ludicrous possibility of him writing a blog post about this event. It was tempting to the let the whole world know he was the one Sherlock had chosen. But never in this kind of detail. No. He couldn't share this with the world. It was his and his alone.

Another few seconds of preparation, another finger, and John finally accepted that they were ready. He thankfully didn't have to ask Sherlock's permission either as the man let out a low groan.

"Please," he said. "I want you, John."

He moved up to claim Sherlock's mouth in a kiss before breaking to grab a condom. After sliding it on and lubing himself he looked at Sherlock again. The man spread his legs a little more.

"Love you," John murmured, sliding back on top and kissing him.

God it was heaven. He groaned and clutched at Sherlock's shoulders as he eased in, looking down into those startling eyes that were staring up at him in pleasure. He pushed his hips a little harder, watching every expression on Sherlock's face before moving to claim his mouth in yet another kiss.

"God John," Sherlock muttered, his body moving to match the thrusts in some capacity, hands scrabbling at John's back.

"Yes," John panted, moving faster. It hadn't been like this in months. All those women. The few men. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be with someone he cared about. To look down into someone's face and feel his heart wrench with desire and longing and…love.

Sherlock let out a harsh cry as he angled his hips a little better. John wasn't able to contain his grin at the thought of making Sherlock come undone. With another harsh thrust he watched Sherlock's entire body fall into the throes of ecstasy. He reached a hand down to stroke him in time with his movements.

"Close," Sherlock panted.

John nodded, agreeing that he too was almost finished. There was a pang of regret at not keeping the pleasure going longer. But he knew there would be much more of this in the future. The thought warmed him considerably.

It only took a few more thrusts before Sherlock let out a loud cry and climaxed. John could hardly contain himself. With a groan, he canted his hips a little faster. In a matter of seconds he was coming, moaning Sherlock's name.

They lay together for a moment, chests heaving, hearts pounding. It was John who finally pulled away, groaning as he eased himself over to the other side of the bed, pulling off the condom to toss it into the wastebasket at the bedside.

"Is it always that good?" Sherlock managed to say, eyes still closed.

"Yes," John said with a smile, leaning over to peck his cheek. "It is. God, you're amazing, Sherlock. I'm…I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"Hardly," Sherlock snorted. "I believe that would be me."

His eyes opened again, and John did his best to not let his emotions overwhelm him. This still seemed like some kind of dream.

Sherlock groaned and sat up, reaching onto the ground and pulling his trousers up, rifling through the pockets.

"What on earth are you doing?" John said, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone.

"Searching for my phone," he said. "I need to send a text."

"To whom?"

Sherlock raised a brow and didn't answer, simply tapping something onto his phone with a rapid pace before setting it to the side.

"I'm not in love with her," he said calmly. "I never have been. But I can't deny she gave me you."

John smirked. "So what are you going to do about that then? Just going to let her die?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I couldn't. Not after everything. No. I believe she deserves the same consideration she gave me."

John chuckled and leaned over to plant a few more kisses before snuggling up against Sherlock's chest.

"You do what you have to," he said with a sigh. "I won't fault you for helping her if it's because of me."

With a smile, Sherlock leaned his head in closer, arms wrapping around John's waist. John made a noise of contentment and closed his eyes.

* * *

John did his best to maintain a straight face while Mycroft told him all about Irene Adler and her recent "demise." Honestly it was altogether humorous watching the older Holmes make a fool out of himself in thinking how good he was fooling his little brother to protect his heart.

"He'll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He'll be fine," John said, knowing all too well how fine Sherlock would be.

Just yesterday he'd smiled and said that he couldn't imagine life ever being more pleasant than this. High praise from Sherlock Holmes John supposed.

"I agree," Mycroft frowned. "That's why I decided to tell him that."

John did his best to feign surprise, especially while Mycroft explained about the terrorist cell and the beheading.

"I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?"

John shook his head, hoping his poker face was working. Sherlock had run it all past him. The best ways to fake a death. The means of procuring a body similar enough to work with. Methods of changing records. Between him and Molly Hooper it apparently hadn't been all that hard to put together. The only thing John was really lacking details on was what had happened to The Woman after Sherlock had helped her. He'd brushed off questions by saying it wasn't important. John let it go pretty quickly.

"Oh, and John?" Mycroft said as they headed to the door.

"Yes?"

"Do be sure that if you hurt my little brother, you'll never see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?" Mycroft said, pursing his lips.

"Er…" John said, staring at him.

"Please, he's been unusually happy as of late. And you have a bruise on your neck with no girlfriend's to speak of."

When John stared at him, he waved a hand.

"You do realize I maintain surveillance on both of you whenever I can? It's not always easy with how clever Sherlock is, but I have my ways. Now, why don't you go break the news to Sherlock gently and then make it up to him with whatever carnal pleasures he desires."

John found himself flushing, but he nodded and bid Mycroft good day before he headed back upstairs.

Sherlock was at the window, playing his violin. He set it aside as John entered, glancing up with question in his eyes.

"Your brother," John said. "Wanted me to tell you about her and her death and all. You were right, your plan worked."

"Of course it worked," Sherlock scoffed. "Mycroft will always be an idiot."

"Also wanted to wish us well," John mentioned, coming over to slide a hand onto Sherlock's shoulder before kissing him, "Seems he's figured out we're together now."

"Well, that's Mrs. Hudson and Molly and my brother who know now," Sherlock said. "I still think we should just go ahead and shag in Lestrade's office and see if he or any of the morons who work there finally figure it out."

John smirked and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist.

"God, you're ridiculous," he said. "I'll just go ahead and kiss you at the next crime scene, what do you say?"

With a nod, Sherlock turned to deepen the kiss. "I quite agree."

"I promised your brother," John managed to say between kisses, "that I'd give you some sort of pleasure so you could forget about what happened to The Woman."

Sherlock sighed. "Don't mention my brother while we're like this," he ordered. "But if you're intent on following his instructions, I suppose I'll allow it for once. Make me forget her, John. Erase her from my mind and body. Make me yours."

He was hardly able to contain his grin as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock a little tighter.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're already mine. And in every aspect I'm yours. Now, come and remind me of it for a little while."

That was all it took. John thought to himself that he'd never found a better way to shut Sherlock up. But by all means, this seemed to be the key. With a grin he allowed himself to be escorted into the bedroom, and with the door shut he let himself go in Sherlock's more than capable hands.

* * *

She had to admit this was going to be an adjustment. Going from her high risk lifestyle and regular kinky sex and running from the law to this…this would take time.

She settled back in the armchair, eyes on the light of the fire, watching it crackle and burn. So domestic and simple. As a child, perhaps she'd thought this might be life. The images her parents had tried to instill into her as a matter of principle. But she would never have chosen it on her own.

Still, Sherlock had spared her life. And when it came down to it, there were plenty of worse ways her life could have turned out.

So, she'd settle for the domestic lifestyle. Relax and enjoy the time she had thanks to the help from Sherlock and John.

"And what has you so wrapped up in your thoughts again?"

She looked up to see Kate in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Just reflecting how life will go now," Irene said with a sigh, looking back at the fire before she could start staring at Kate dressed in that silky dressing gown Irene had given her three years ago for her birthday. It had always made her look lovely, that dark blue shimmery fabric. Irene felt warmth settle in her belly at the thought of Kate's soft pale curves beneath the garment. What she wouldn't give to see them again.

Sherlock had brought her here after the rescue in Karachi. She'd been startled when they'd been welcomed into the house by Kate at first, though she quickly discovered that Sherlock had contacted her a month before, and he'd done some kind of miraculous job at explaining the circumstances.

Though that still didn't mean Kate had forgiven her.

It had been a month. A month of sleeping in separate bedrooms and practically avoiding each other. Kate was working at a law firm, spending much of her time at her office instead of in the house. The few words they'd exchanged had been curt. And Irene knew it might take more time to ease the rift she'd created between them. But that didn't make it easy.

"And how do you see life going?" Kate asked, resting against the door frame.

"I'd like to try to find some work," Irene said. "Nothing…indiscreet," she said, with a glance in Kate's direction.

Kate snorted. "You're a dominatrix at heart, it's what you do. What else could there be?"

Irene shrugged. "I'd find something. Besides…I've…begun to realize I don't know that I want to live that life anymore."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Screwing as many people as you can get your hands on? Why on earth not?"

"Because I know you never liked it," Irene said quietly.

Kate tried to speak, but Irene interrupted before she could.

"No. You pretended for my sake. And you supported me…but you hated it," Irene said. "And I always knew, but I always…I ignored it. Because I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Kate asked, staring at her.

"Yes," Irene said. "Afraid of…of the things you made me feel. With having sex with others I could distance myself from you. Make it just about the sex… but…I always loved you. I knew I did. I just didn't want to face it…didn't want to think about what it meant."

There was a long moment of silence. Kate's expression was difficult to read. She kept her arms crossed as she studied Irene.

"This isn't just manipulation, is it?' Kate asked warily. "It's not just your way of knowing you can weasel me back into caring for you if you apologize and make an effort is it?"

"No," Irene said. "I…I know I could at least find the means of bringing sex clients back into my life. But I don't think I want that anymore. Or even if I do, I'd rather learn not to want it…learn to only want you."

Kate was quiet for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked Irene over once or twice for any signs of deception. Irene just turned back to the fire, unable to look Kate in the eye.

She'd said it. Finally. Those words had escaped and she'd told the truth about how she felt. But it seemed so unlikely that her feelings were returned.

"All right," Kate said after a long moment.

Her head snapped up as she looked towards the door.

"What?"

"All right," Kate repeated. "You're forgiven. If you behave, that is. Will you behave for me, mistress?"

Irene felt that familiar heat curling in her belly.

"I suppose I must," she said with a light smile.

Kate pushed away from the wall, moving her hands to the dressing gown and untying it. Irene felt her mouth dry up as the fabric fell away to reveal smooth creamy skin only covered up by tantalizing black lingerie.

"Will you have me then, mistress? As a sign of my forgiveness?"

"Yes," Irene managed to whisper, clearing her throat. She smiled as best she could. "Come here my naughty girl."

Kate's eyes lit with fire. "Yes, mistress." She came to sit in Irene's lap, arranging herself over Irene's knees.

"I did mean it, you know," Irene whispered, looking up into her eyes. "I love you so much, my beautiful lovely Kate."

"I love you too," she said, reaching a hand to cup Irene's face.

Irene felt as though her heart might stop. She sat there hardly able to believe this was happening, letting Kate take the lead as she processed.

"Never thought I'd say it," Kate whispered as she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Irene's mouth.

"What?" Irene managed to ask before letting out a sigh, hands smoothing down Kate's thighs.

"Thank God for the consulting detective," Kate said with a grin.

Irene smiled at that before relaxing into Kate's attentions. She was right, though. Her naughtiness in that respect had paid off quite well in the end. She thought of the remaining cameras in 221 B and smiled. Well, perhaps she'd keep an eye on the two of them then. With the ambiguous future ahead, she'd do what she could to keep those two men as happy as she was.

And with that last though she refocused on spending time with her lover, content in knowing her work was done.

* * *

**A/N: Well that's a wrap folks! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm sad to see this done, but it's a relief to know I have one project finished. Now I'm off to finish my two WIP's plus work on a few other ideas I have brewing (plus some lovely requests to fill). Hope to see some of you again in the future! Feel free to drop me a PM if you ever want to talk. **

**Thanks to lover-singer, French Fabulousness of France, and ******Insane . Whovians . with . legacies ** for reviews! Last posting thanking reviewers, so the rest of you who review after this is done thanks so much!**


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